DEVOTIONS

To Sister Louise Vanaen de Voringhem: — Her blue coif turned toward the North Sea. — For the shipwrecked.

To Sister Leonie Aubois d'Ashby. Baou — the buzzing, stinking summer grass. — For the fevers of mother and children.

To Lulu, — demon — who has kept a taste for the oratories of the time of Les Amies and her unfinished education. For men! — To Madame ***.

To the adolescent I was. To that holy old man, hermitage or mission.

To the spirit of the poor. And to a very high clergy.

As well as to all cults in any place of memorial cults and amidst any events to which one must succumb according to the aspirations of the moment or one's own serious vice.

This evening to Circeto of the icy heights, fat as a fish, and painted like the ten months of the red night — (her heart amber and spunk), — for my only prayer silent as those nocturnal regions, and preceding fears more violent than this chaos of the poles.

No matter how, no matter where, even in metaphysical journeys. — But then no more.