Count Julian - pg. 104

soaring falcon, noble Poet, come to my aid: bear me aloft
to the realm of more luminous truths: one's true homeland
is not the country of one's birth: man is not a tree: help me
to live without roots: ever on the move: my only sustenance
your nourishing language: a tongue without a history, a
hermetic verbal universe, a shimmering mirage: a lightning
bolt or a scimitar: the Word freed after centuries in bondage:
the illusion of the bird who flies into the canvas to peck at
the painted grapes: language-as-transparency, language-
as-reflection, witness that is worthless, sound and fury,
signifying nothing