The sun has already set, and darkness
is engulfing its poor somber path
then why, my dear, do you still lay on the grass,
your legs sprawled across the soil,
as though you have no desire to leave?
Is it that the night sky is keeping you detained,
why your eyes intently wander through it?
But the stars are absent and the sky is empty,
and the moon, too, has shied away.
Then why do you lay there, as still as the world above you,
or is there some unearthly enchantment that does not satisfy the reasoning of someone as I? A mystical phantom power that has your
feet wed to the fronds?
Speak of it and I shall free you from
this torment, return you to your rooms,
and perhaps, provide you with a window
with no curtains to shield the very sky
you’re so feverishly intertwined with.
Artwork by: Odilon Redon
