It's You it is not us…

It's you it is not us it's the fire that doesn't fear the wind
The kind that sweeps quicker than wind over the countryside
A young girl shakes her black hair in sleep
And watches us pass
And watches you pass it's you it is not us
The genius of the well lowers his magic blue hoop onto your path
It's no longer you is it you its not us
There are doors for every precipice
Even for the ones we fall over and all the way down there are birds
Birds that live only there
Whose wings form and X more vibrant than any other
Where are you going the address is grinding you I see fine nude legs
There are no precipices for you
No fleeting oaths that glide over resplendent waters
You are the light winding about the necks of trees
The light that escapes no one and that twists around the grindstone no one sees
Here is the sea here are the races and rosacres you love
The eternal armor of snows on the sea
The wet coupes whipped by the red algae of long avenues
Here are the beautiful aiguillettes
Is it there do you want to see the cross that never arises above sea-level
Do you want the forest of mirrors furrowed with black lightning
That hides behind the northen dawns

Do you attend the intimate coronations of queens with no subjects
Or else do you come from the serene pallor of mortal things
Like me questioning you and seeking your arms like a flame through a grill
What grill the grill of time
What time the time of tears
Where are the shapes of leaves of veils of huge butterfies that make the wind tremble

Where is the fire going the fire that doesn't fear the wind

Andre Breton (1926)