In the Arc of Your Mallet

Le Pont De L'Europe, by Gustave Caillebotte

Don't go anywhere without me.

Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,

or on the ground, in this world or that world,

without my being in its happening.

Vision, see nothing I don't see.

Language, say nothing.

The way the night knows itself with the moon,

be that with me. Be the rose

nearest to the thorn that I am.

I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,

in the arc of your mallet when you work,

when you visit friends, when you go

up on the roof by yourself at night.

There is nothing worse than to walk out along the street

without you. I don't know where I'm going.

You are the road and the knower of roads,

more than maps, more than love.