In my sleep it rips through br my meagre skin br throws off the red bandage of the flesh br and goes strolling through the room br my monument a little incomplete br br one can be prodigal br with tears and blood br what will endure here the longest br must be thoughtfully provided for br br better (than with a priest's dry finger br to the rains which drip from a cloud of sand) br to give one's monument to the academey br br they will prop it up in a glass display case br and in Latin they will pray before br the little altar made from an os frontalis br br they will reckon the bones and surfaces br they will not forget not overlook br br happily I will give my color of eyes br pattern of nails and curve of eyelids br I the perfectly objective br made from white crystals of anatomy br br can for thoughts br heart cage br bony pile br and two shins br br you my little monument not quite completebr br Zbigniew Herbertbr br