In Paris the tottering Saint-Jacques tower
Like a sunflower
Sometimes strikes the Seine with its brow and its shadow
glides imperceptibly among the tugboats
At that moment on tiptoe in my sleep
I move towards the room where I am lying
And I set it on fire
So that nothing remains of that acquiescence wrung from me
The furniture then gives way to animals of the same size
who gaze at me fraternally 
Lions in whose manes the chairs are consumed to the last
Sharks whose white belly absorbs the last flutter of the sheets
At the hour of love and blue eyelids
I seem myself burning in turn I see this solemn hiding place of nothings
Which was my body
Probed by the patient beaks of the ibises of fire