I don’t mean poetry, but blindness:
The jar of the evening we inserted into…
Thus every color vanishes, and the (young woman) remains standing on the porch of her
ruins. When the foam advances, old age enters the door, and to those who knew not the
sun, eyes become tombstones, which begins the encounter, and avoids the sands of
vision.
from Dayplaces:Showdowns Concerning The Beauty Of The World And Its Depression
Translated by Naseer Hassan and Jon Davis, with Christopher Merrill