The little man who sang without ceasing
the little man who danced in my head
the little man of youth
broke his shoelace
and all he booths at the fair
all at once collapsed
and in the silence of this fair
in the desert of this head
I heard your happy voice
your torn and fragile voice
childish and desolate
coming from afar and calling me
and I put my hand upon my heart
where shivered
bloodily
the seven glass slivers of your starlit laughter.
Jacques Prevert
