Reading Time: < 1 minute

Poem

The future: time’s excuse
to frighten us; too vast
a project, too large a morsel
for the heart’s mouth.

Future, who won’t wait for you?
Everyone is going there.
It suffices you to deepen
the absence that we are.

Translated by A. Poulin

Previous Poem
Sunset
Next Poem
The Grown-Up