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■ The oak
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Your photo rules my desk; I try to draw upon your face...
Alike a juggler that throws now cestoids now flames; These verses are written for your delight, I fetched them, at a stretched, from my burning heart: They are my cabbalistic psalms, my endless prayer, In which I’ve put the Love near Eternity So as to fight, equally, with the hostile Destiny: However, they’ve left me too, you betray together. ...Hurried, the hoariness wraps me into frost, Bitterly, sleepless thoughts, like wildest winds, One by one were rent, shelling me by dreams... Above the abyss of oblivion, alone, I feel old and lost. Take pity on me, climb down, and cast the dice, Because soon, solemn snows will close my eyes. Saturday, March 5, 1955
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