Dust, dust of the oceans, first handkerchief above the wave, call
to the free cloud. . .
The cloud suddenly falls as a block of stone.
Dust, rock dust, into this rock. I will plant my freedom, into this
rock now scattered to the wind.
The burning sand eats our foreheads, simoon of flames.
Smoke, smoke from the burning of bodies, smoke full of illu-
sions, in you I will plant my fancy.
Smoke returns to the ocean, flask of dirty water where a hunch-
back Venus scoffs at hope through her satisfied teeth.
The Overlook Press 1990
translated from the French by Kelton W. Knight