poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

The future: time's excuse
to frighten us; too vast
a project, too large a morsel
for the heart's mouth.

Future, who won't wait for you?
Everyone is going there.
It suffices you to deepen
the absence that we are.


Translated by A. Poulin

Added: 2 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 8 Oct 2008 6:02 AM | Viewed: 2893 times

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