How will the memory of things retain its vivid
Pool-like and surpassing the glow of symbols?
For I, I will set a question among the rags and tapestries,
On which delicately I have knit the answer
Called ‘riddle’, among objects and including them,
So that my confession is a mirror through which
The truth appears and seems. And if I told you
A woman had something to do with it?
When we come to these chapters,
When the vellum spreads in these manners
And one feels the animal quiver the rippling quill
That has covered its quilt of irrational words,
It is hard to imagine that the world once was
Just that, and innumerable ways.
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