At three A.M. we passed
through the Great Pit
and our boat, which had always been creaky
withdrew instantly
into a dark fainthearted
while we floated atop thousands and thousands of meters or horrors
That was all, I tell it as I lived it
the Great Pit
the darkness of three A.M.
enveloping the boat decked out profusely
in paper lanterns and floodlights
sailors and passengers
by youth and by fear
by the cold
all in the same hulk floating
above or below reality
a reality, how should I put it?
oblivious to our knowledge, our books
our history
a reality that called to mind
the final passion, the mystery of a surrealist poet
a minor poet
in Aldo Pellegrini’s anthology, know
who I mean?