1 The past came at the white dawn Wearing a soiled hat And a black dress. The past came to streets that it knows As a woman knows her hoopoe And the place in which she submitted nightingales to death. 2 The past behind the door, is it …? Easy as the ladder When a child attends so excited with death and oblivion? 3 The past is behind the door While I am, for ages, wakeful as a broken clock But the past dare not enter And I dare not open the door for guests I do not know. 4 The past sat behind the door It ate behind the door, slept and woke At dawn, it thought of nothingness for long It married and practiced its blue habit. 5 Behind me is the door, before me is the door. Behind me is the sense, before me is the sense. 6 Through the hole in the door I see him getting up from death Walking to and fro, To and fro and talking nonsense. I arrest myself. 7 At a white dawn like a knife I saw the soiled hat and the black dress. I remembered I was behind the door for countless ages As broken clocks I remained wakeful, Catching the past with my palm I stab him with the knife. I choke him happily with death's breeze Happily as the sunbeam Happily with my moaning Happily with the blackness of my blood. ( T M )