A sonnet in half-rhyme, translating Borges' sonnet "Composición escrita en un ejemplar de la gesta de B[e]owulf." The poem begins:
I ask myself from time to time what reasons
Move me to study, as my night comes on
And with no hope of mastery or precision,
The language of the harsh Angles and Saxons.
And ends:
Beyond this arduous task, beyond this verse
Waits, inexhaustible, the universe.
Not in MO2.
BAM.