THE INSCRIPTION


It says that my work is done. Why do I wait
Here on this threshold?

Are there any more words to say? I do not think so.
Those I had did not reach the things I had.
Now on this threshold where I wait for death
To invite me in, I cannot remember my needs.
There are no beggars now, it is absurd for an old man
To stand suppliant even before his memories.
Why imagine what you cannot encompass?
It was not my need, I have none
But the supposed voice of the incorrigible Adam
Who knew Lilith in deep sterility and begot on Eve
Pro-figures of his departed desires
On which the world was built. It bursts out
In thunder and lightning in the following of Adam
And still lours over the horizon. I am not flesh
More than in his dream, the following of Adam
...