I have tried to save from oblivion a minor
horror: the vast, contradictory library,
whose vertical deserts of books run the incessant risk of metamorphosis,
which affirm everything, deny everything, and confuse everything - like
a raving god.
Cultures of East and West, the entire atlas,
encyclopedias, centuries, dynasties,
symbols, the cosmos, and cosmogonies
are offered from the walls, all to no purpose.
In shadow, with a tentative stick, I try
the hollow twilight,
slow and imprecise -
I, who had always thought of Paradise
in form and image as a library.
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