Classic Poem

Is it because childhood is a neglected ship's mast
that the sea fumes,
dismembers it?
Is it because childhood
is a refuge for a lovely day
that terrors and guillotines
multiply beyond its fancies?

Everything
scattered across your traps ...
the voice could no longer remember its objects

Could no longer build for itself a garden
of echoes
a garden of messages
We took
everything
— empty or full —
to the forest of fire
Nothing remained to meet their gaze
except our nakedness before the swords!