Now I come in.
Get out.
I have not opened yet
the veins of this blood,
nor the mouth of this word
has been yet broken off from its first sound:
thick shadow, errant time,
sumptuous skin tightened to a tree
as a frutal crown greedy
for deep, subterranean
victories.
Are perhaps these Gorgon's eyes
that have welled from the temples
to the edge of this skinny face?
Are their twilight gleamings
on the brief window
overshadowing its own nightfall
which are cooing
as a sleepless turtledove
among the talking foliage?
Encrusted strands, rhythmic strings
distilled onto virginal pleats.
Evocation. Unintelligible images
in a magic dance
from a palm
leaning its fingers as a sacred bud
squeezing divine fruits.
Gone voices, already incongruous
in this word's vernacular hour,
gesture frozen on its own trace,
ancient and forgotten forever.
2
For ever. Forever.
That's the way how every thing
remains placed on
every corner of the world:
sunk into its implacable twilight,
put into the corner against its own shadow,
penitent and dim.
Who will unfold the blinds
fallen upon the hindmost
darkness
or will guard the light boundaries
that the sleep oversteps
unnoticed and giggling
in a lovely endless game?
Game over? That's it?
And then the dreadful trim of dark fire
clinging to everything a little,
like this,
as a last wink of adulteress
before the dawn breaks and all becomes resting
and time gone, shrivelled
in its brief tremor of female wounded
by the years and the mists
of centuries.
Setting off? Coming back?
To where?
Not even the "here" deposed
as expired letter in imminent
yearning of the preterite never more been
will know how say its why, or its how,
nor its when.
3
I open my mouth, it's time now,
and I emerge from the sidereal oyster
unfolded outer of itself.
This was my soul, at last, all her
nudity, unheard-of, smooth
and fresh as the walnut before
sinking into the sonorous,
fetid, juicy pit
of words.
Put a muzzle to this hungry she-wolf,
opened toward the abysmal thirst
of a silent ardor.
Should I touch my lips
with two long, pale fingers
and lick my own poison
flowing back on its blazing
body?
Now see. Now feel.
Touch. Look.
Lush and vast paths
meander under the cautious
visage of what is ignored.
