A time to be so small.

So states of un-satisfaction, 
objects which we see or which 
reveal an absence are the only performances 
to which the individual recovers in susceptive uniqueness. 

The city might fix it or establish it 

but I see it an existence of our own as a chance to see 

what the city must and can do, without the power to do it.

It's all very well and precise to say that Baudelaire 
had mysterious wishes to be like the stone in the statue
without posing the ability. 

You cannot present the poet is eager to extract some petrifiable image from this of the past. 

But the images which he left are situated in a life 

which was open and infinate in Baudelaire's sense of the word.

[A time to ease your solace, a time to be so small]