That for these pure nails

Stéphane Mallarmé

That for these pure nails, to the very highs of their onyx
This midnight, Anguish, sustained shade in the lamp of the street
Many dreams have been brought down, Phoenix, by these vespers
That for the cinerarium amphora, have failed to collect,

On the credenza, vacuous shows: the ptyx is nil
Abolishing baubles resonant within the salon
(All so that to the Styx, the Maestro draws sobs
With honor, the Nothingness for which you are nothing).

But neighboring, the angles cutting north a vacancy, of early gold
Dying off only perhaps to be in accord with the décor
Unicorns kick off from a contrary flame, and nix her,

She, that even when nude, has swarms to defunct her fecundity,
Within lapses of oblivion mirrored all along the scope, it's fixed
Scintillations, a septet of stars no sooner than hope

translated from the French by Stephen Cahaly