Alors que je suis penchée sur une page poétique tissant la Grandeur d’un Dieu, mes cils dévient leurs martèlements vers un poème qui leur fait front… Cela nous méritera bien une interruption après engloutissement d’une relecture mythique des Métamorphoses, III, 501-535…

Fred Chappell, 1985
Narcissus and Echo

Shall the water not remember Ember
my hand’s slow gesture, tracing above of
its mirror my half-imaginary airy
portrait? My only belonging longing;
is my beauty, which I take ache
away and then return, as love of
teasing playfully the one being unbeing.
whose gratitude I treasure Is your
moves me. I live apart heart
from myself, yet cannot not
live apart. In the water’s tone, stone?
that brilliant silence, a flower Hour,
whispers my name with such slight light:
moment, it seems filament of air, fare
the world becomes cloudswell. well.