The leaves of color in the trees of night
And the blue-green vine joining the sky to the trees.
The great-bodied wind
Spares them. Avalanche, through its transparent head
The light, a swarm of insects, vibrates and dies out.
Miracle unclothed, crumbling, rupture
For a single being.
The loveliest unknown
Is always dying.
Stars of her heart in the eyes of everyone.
by Paul Eluard
