2019

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A Fan

Of Mademoiselle Mallarmé’s



With nothing of language but

A beating in the sky

From so precious a place yet

Future verse will rise.



A low wing the messenger

This fan if it is the one

The same by which behind you there

Some mirror has shone



Limpidly (where will fall

pursued grain by grain

a little invisible dust, all

that can give me pain)



So may it always bless

Your hands free of idleness.  

Stéphane Mallarmé