It is the grass that moves, not the quails.
Weary of embraces, she thought of
Committing her body to the flame.
When I shut my eyes, I hear far and wide
The air of the Ice Age stirring.
When I open them, a rocket passes over a meteor.
A quail’s egg is complete in itself,
Leaving not room enough for a dagger’s point.
All the phenomena in the universe: myself.
Quails are supported by the universe
(I wonder if that means subsisting by God).
A quail has seized God by the neck
With its black bill, because there is no
God greater than a quail.
(Peter, Christ, Judas: a quail.)
A quail’s egg: idle philosophy in solution.
(There is no wife better than a quail.)
I dropped a quail’s egg into a cup for buckwheat noodles,
And made havoc of the Democratic Constitution.
Split chopsticks in the back, a quail husband
will deliver dishes on a bicycle, anywhere.
The light yellow legs go up the hill of Golgotha.
Those quails who stood on the rock, became the rock!
The nightfall is quiet, but inside the congealed exuviae
Numberless insects zigzag, on parade.