sexta-feira, 30 de junho de 2017

Ai - Mexico, 1940

At noon today, I woke from a nightmare:   
my friend Jacques ran toward me with an ax,   
as I stepped from the train in Alma-Ata.
He was dressed in yellow satin pants and shirt.   
A marigold in winter.
When I held out my arms to embrace him,   
he raised the ax and struck me at the neck,   
my head fell to one side, hanging only by skin.   
A river of sighs poured from the cut.

Ai (1947-2010)

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