On dreams, on mathematics, and on death. Card-catalogues turn up such heady stuff Sometimes as this, this rapture from the depths Which isn't where it should be on the shelf. For a moment, remembering Borges' poor young clerk, I idly consider writing it myself, Setting a record for the shortest work The world had ever seen on three such themes Of such import as death and math and dreams.
I think of asking that a search be made, But give it up, my French is not so great And right now I've got plenty on my plate Without this title turned up by pure chance As if desinged to bait my ignorance. And yet -- ? But I shall let this once-glimpsed fish Swim through the deep of thought beyond my wish, And resign myself to knowing nothing more Du reve, de la mathematique, et de la mort.