Translation

under my fingerpads weighty textured volumes hide inside this Library of Babel against the kitchen sink the iron bedstead with needle or Subtle Knife this embryo of a different life I could bathe in its milk like the undertows that pull me uncharted oceans would speak

What is love?

an egg

I’ve heard

I strike it

but it will not open

but if love were the moon

dark basins

and I could finally listen