Pierre Joris
Another Dawn's

sharp cat edge
perched on
balcony overlooks an
overgrown garden
overseen by
a veiled moon.

the air has water
in it. I add
smoke. The pink
of my heart
is not the pink
of the horizon.

En face: orange
clinker built
siding with
oval church
window built
in: 2 palm fronds
& what looks like
an abstract rose.

Which is what
morning is:
an abstract rose

& keeps rising.

 

R.I.P. for C. L.-S.

The self is
“haïssable,”
detestable —

the man who just
lost his self
said

long ago
adding that
where there is

“pas de moi”
no me, no I

there will be
a nothingness

or an us,
no, he said “and”

“un rien et
un nous:”

which this morning
(pardon the departed)
I want to translate as

a noos
& a noose.