The Museum

A clamor, in the distance. A crowd running under the rain beating down, between the canvases the sea wind set clattering. A man passes crying something. What is he saying? What he knows! What he has seen! I make out his words. Ah, I almost understand! I took refuge in a museum. Outside the great wind mixed with water reigns alone from now on, shaking the glass panes. In each painting, I think, it’s as if  God were giving up on finishing the world. Translated from the French