On a Terrace in Algiers On a terrace in Algiers I painted as the sun declined It never returned I did not collect my work
The tree admires the lavender fields But does not care for the perfume The burning hills west Dream of the sea And the fragrance of
Plucked unknown from the pitiful waters of the city she rests cold upon the ice slab below the windows of the dead her faint smile
The Church of the Mountains Has no congregation Its path is clear But nobody comes Only I see its beating heart
The spindle trees Write quiet messages On the low cloud As the sparse birds search For their fortune tokens In the brittle light soil.
Why did the snail cross the road ? Because he was moving house. A serious and good philosophical work could
What distant memories Will you possess When you study The libraries of the universe ?
The sign clings to the white stone It is an essential love I have discussed the platonic
I had always known that he had an astonishing sense of colour But was he a gifted man ? It was reported that when he
The dripping dawn had broken the winter writers burning ideal of his waxen youth and a strange linnet sang songs of peculiar clarity in the