We want to leave traces

        in words.

But language is no private invention.

To love, to be abandoned;

to discover the clock that counts the seconds

inside the body. The pain in the light,

        fury,

helpless grief. Language knows all that.

What then is my own? Is it possible

to gain personal experience

        and attach words to it

that are not simply conventional?

To make an addition?

Something has happened, something big,

yet I cannot explain

        what it is.

Assertions betray themselves.

I must accept my embarrassment –

and listen to the words

reproducing with reality

        everywhere.