After the painting The Milkmaid,
by Johannes Vermeer (1632-75)

The milk that here falls forever
and flows as if it were true,
a liquid which the light of the paint fains
(and so completely) this afternoon,
drips slowly, stuck to the instant
(morning of a woman far from me),
in a different time, so distant,
that frees itself (an endless now).
She crosses (like the milk, she is light)
the space and the hours without spilling,
without giving herself to the outside –
only to our gaze, only to our gaze.
Concentration of a being within herself.
The milk here falls forever.

• Throne of weapons

• Still movement

• Self-portrait with monkey

• The gaze of the dwarf

• In the depth of the cloth

• At the margin

• The circle

• Ruins

• The burning house

• Plutôt oiseau que pájaro

• 22 June 1937

• Ship of several trees

• To read a language

• And Paris gave me birth

• Dead word

• My mother died in London

• It was my son, my father

• Living from glass

• Lesson on the beach