My Life by Henri Michaux (tr. Bernard Waldrop)

My life, you take off without me.
You roll
while I'm still waiting to take a step.
You carry the battle somewhere else.
You leave me alone like this.
I've never followed you.

I don't see too clearly what you offer.
The little I want, you never bring.
Because of this lack, my ideals go way up
To all sorts of things, to infinity almost . . .
because of this little that's lacking, that you never bring.