by Gunnar Ekelof (trans. by Robert Bly)
I do my best alone at night
alone with the secrets my lamp has
set free from the day that asks too much
bent over a labor never finished
the combinations of solitaire. What then
if the solitaire always defeats me
I have the whole night. Somewhere
chance is sleeping in the cards. Somewhere
a truth has been said once already
then why worry? Can it ever
be said again? In my absentmindedness
I will listen to the wind at night
to the flutes of the Corybants
and to the speech of the men who wander forever