What Is That?

Did that dream
keep a sphinx on a leash?
Just what is that question
concerning the jingling of aromas?
What is that noise of holy negligence
in the exaltation colonnade of interior stars?
There is nothing but snow
in that white-hot stove.
Are there any white cards?
What is in those autonomous hands?
What is there?
Aren't there never-ending
memories?
What is that?
Handfuls of down
of postilion foam?
Is it some sort
of bird laughter?
Isn't it some sort of creature
more like limpid glaucous wellsprings
than human beings?
If it were merely a rifle shot
or the fall of young women from a white chair
into the hands of white roses
I would go away.

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