rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


The moon, since nightfall the companion of clouds, was about to settle among the pines when an unexpected fog began to drift through the woodland. Night was then filled with ghostly blue light, for a while, and the woods gradually deprived of the chance to be silhouetted as the fog thickened. The declining moon vanished while yet in the sky. Having obscured its source of light, the drifting vapor itself was obscured, and from the dense dark which fell came the hooting of the owls. By the time the fog had dispersed, the moon had set, its only trace being a faint glow cast on the high clouds. The owls remained.

Sunday Verse


by Octavio Paz

At the limits
of charred space
the tree's
yellow ascension
                 Agate whirlwind
presence consumed
in a weightless glory
Hour after hour unleaving
the day
        now nothing
but a stalk
            of scattering vibrations
And amid such
              indifferent bliss
it sprouts
           identical intact
the day
        The same that flows
through my hands
                 the same
ember on my eyelids
The day          The tree

-translated by Charles Tomlinson

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