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O little root of a dream

you hold me here

undermined by blood,

no longer visible to anyone,

property of death.

Curve a face

that there may be speech, of earth,

of ardor, of

things with eyes, even

here, where you read me blind,

even

here,

where you

refute me,

to the letter.

O little root of a dream

Nikolai Popov & Heather McHugh, translation from
the German written by Paul Celan

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