Translated by Kathleen Snodgrass
The open hand’s
sharp nails
prop up a face
of lackluster pearl.
Behind the smoke
of the motionless cigarette
her eyes
—age indeterminate—
are dull jade.
Her stony lips
suck fury
from a cup.
Far from the window
that frames it
the gray afternoon
lights up the sky’s last metals.
So much ocher
brings on vertigo:
a woman gives herself over
to the void.
Originally published in Cider Press Review, Volume 1.