COMMON NOCTURNE

A breath opens operatic breaches in the walls, — blurs the pivoting of crumbling roofs, — disperses the boundaries of hearths, — eclipses the windows.

Along the vine, having rested my foot on a waterspout, I climbed down into this coach, its period indicated clearly enouogh by the convex panes of glass, the bulging panels, the contorted sofas. Isolated hearse of my
sleep, shepherd's house of my insanity, the vehicle veers on the grass of the obliterated highway: and in the defect at the top of the right-hand windowpane revolve pale lunar figures, leaves, and breasts.

— A very deep green and blue invade the picture. Unhitching near a spot of gravel.

— Here will they whistle for the storm, and the Sodoms and Solymas, and the wild beasts and the armies, (Postilion and animals of dream, will they begin again in the stifling forests to plunge me up to my eyes in the silken spring?)

And, whipped through the splashing of waters and spilled drinks, send us rolling on the barking of bulldogs...

— A breath disperses the boundaries of the hearth.