Where this beautiful body descends into the unknown earth, combatant clad in leather or naked dead belovéd, I shall paint only a tree that retains in its foliage the gilded murmur of a passing light. . . .
No one can separate fire from ash, laughter from dust, no one would have recognized beauty without her dying bed, peace reigns only over the boneyard and the rocks, the poor man whatever he do is always between two guns.
notes: sometimes i don't know what to read and then look at jaccottet's poem and there is almost always a line or two to find that capture my attention and make me think of something. and this 1974 edition is beautiful.