The diver photographed au ralenti

cuts a spider arabesque

and in that figure perhaps makes his life

known. This man standing on the diving-board

goes back to being dead, the swimmer going

back to the board after diving is dead,

the photographer’s dead, the man who celebrates it

was never born.

And so? Is it alive—

the space filled by every living thing?

Pity for the eyes, for the objective,

pity for everything made manifest,

pity for those leaving and those arriving,

pity for those who achieve or have achieved,

pity for those who know that all and nothing

are two veils concealing the Unpronounceable,

pity for those who know it, for those who say it,

for those who don’t know it and grope

in the darkness of words!