My absent is desire,
My absent is of fire and water mingled,
My absent with her llupo eyes,
My absent, parisian and iberic,
My absent wanders by her alleys,
Her passages, her booksellers,
My absent, her aloof and sad heart,
My absent that I can't huddle up to my chest,
As I did when in this resort by the sea
empty as if for us by the missing of summer
You, my Absent
Where are you, where do you wander
Which words, which poems go with you
Which impregnable Spleen is now living in your heart
Which sadness fills you with gloom
That I'd like to chase away
Chase away from you
As away from me, your Absence?

Cyrill Duneau