114 You fell on me -- the weight of crashing boulders; No, not the boulders -- but the weightless torture of the fog; No, not the fog -- but the inflaming smolder; No, not the smolder -- but the cold tranquility of snow; No, not the snow -- the war with its explosions; No, not the war erasing eyes with soot and throat with smoke -- Yes, not the fog which lost the weight of boulders; Yes, not the boulders which are lost within the cunning fog; Yes, not the snow which quenched the thirst of smolder, Yes, not the smolder which will boil the quietude of the snow -- Through all my deeds and days you fell upon me, Befell -- uniting all my warring pieces in one whole.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems