you entered the dwelling place of dead tenderness alive

and in each step you recognized

yourself as an enticing answer

the world hasn’t changed from ash for you

nor has anguish crucified itself

a little loss a little gain it’s always the weight of windowpanes

bearing down on your dark forehead

but you are lucid in these hours that look like you

walking among your footsteps which the scales tally

through the starry years on the tree of pain

tristan tzara

speaking alone