The heat has shrunken my brain. If I shake my head I will probably hear it rattling about like a walnut in a jar.
No crickets are chirping in my yard. It occurs to me that I haven't heard them in several nights. I have no idea what has become of them. Perhaps I've watered too little and they've gone to damper yards. Perhaps the cats have destroyed them all. I stand in the moonlight listening to more distant crickets. Why have I none of my own? Cricket envy is a terrible thing.
by Guillaume Appolinaire
Here you are beside me again
Memories of my companions killed in the war
The olive-branch of time
Memories that make only a single memory
As a hundred skins make only a single coat
As these thousands of wounds make only a single
Impalpable and ark presence who have assumed
the changing shape of my shadow
an Indian on the watch through all Eternity
shadow you creep beside me
but you do not hear me any more
you will not know any more the divine poems I sing
but I hear you still and see you still
Multiple shadows may the sun preserve you
You who love me so much that you will never leave me
And who dance in the sun without stirring the dust
Shadow ink of the sun
Signature of my light
Holder of sorrows
A god that condescends.