Juan Gris

By day give thanks, by night be wary.

Half the world was gentleness,

the other showed blind rigidity.

A merciless present could be read in the veins;

in the beauties of outlines the limited space

cemented all the joints of familiar objects.

A table, a guitar, and an empty glass

on an acre of solid earth

and white canvas and night air.

The table had to hold itself up,

the lamp to remain a seed of shade,

the newspaper was leaving its other half.

Twice a day, twice a night,

from two objects comes a double object,

a single whole forever.