Still Life with Plaster Statuette,
a Rose and Two Novels
It was as though a girl came forth
from the marriage of song and lyre,
shining like springtime.
She became inseparable from my own hearing.
She slept in me. Everything was in her sleep:
the trees I loved, the distances
that had opened, the meadows—
all that had ever moved me.
She slept the world. Singing god, how
have you fashioned her, that she does not long
to have once been awake? See: she took form and slept.
Where is her death? Will you discover
the answer before your song is spent?
If I forget her, will she disappear?
Sonnets to Orpheus I, 2
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