The curtain frays at the edges
Unwinds, disobedient
Only to reveal
No bed (where one should be)
Dainty white muslin
Conflicted, floats
Away from the pane
More like a halo (than a shroud)
Here, in the cage of your mind,
Lies a mandolin
Hollow (with no music in its heart)
Towards another window
Its brother may lie
Born of nothing (but of itself)
A loose translation of Mallarmé's Un dentelle s'abolit. It's near impossible to capture every aspect of the original French poem, so I've opted for the a simple that expresses my personal take on the poem whilst still be as faithful as possible to the imagery of the original.
