When you see a monkey banging a clam
against a stone it is like seeing one’s self
investigating a philosophical problem.
No one can preclude that animals are cleverer
than us, they manage life without words,
we’re unable to do that. Silence
leads us astray in a psychic labyrinth,
words flicker through the brain like fish
deep down; they constantly shift meaning.

Each of us finds our self in a body;
it is possible to make contact with caresses,
but everything becomes more and more abstract.
Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests;
the mind remembers the settlements
in raw nature. Now we live with bookcases
full of dictionaries, in nameless castles of air,
on separate floors.
What do you call that?

The anesthetists discuss astronomy