The moon too mirrors itself wretchedly
among the poor vegetation
and certain lands afloat on sand

beyond, beasts nurse litter within litter
in the middle of cities
in wild nocturnes

a whip hand from which nothing escapes
except the distorted chatter
of gulls and ravens.

Something sees everything
and the nerve of sight is the equator
the eye looks at itself in terror

the circle of a boundary does not save us.
Exposed by a single film to one another
- a ceaseless fluttering of the pupil -

we await the arrival of the good of a further synthesis
in the turmoil.

Translation: Moira Egan and Damiano Abeni