– 36 –

II.

Duong Ngoc Canh painted me
in 1945. Then someone else
carved my image in wood
and multiplied me.

I was all over the city,
flapping against plane trees
and rolling down the street
with other rubbish.

Not quite immortal or free from aging
I was still luckier than most
for I had hundreds and hundreds
of lives.

The way you shed eyelashes and skin,
I let my replicas go painlessly.
Somewhere in the city, a printing press
was constantly replacing

what I'd lost.