You were the first shadow. The omen unleashing a slow destruction of angels. With a cord that ties the contrary winds.
In the deep illuminated verb of color that would shape praise of fire and of wind where we go from flight to flight higher than light, we would be like birds, we would be apparitions.
Shade by shade January fades in my hair, where black day is a water star, its illumination has the wings of air and it does not weigh on the walls as the face of night looks in my window.
Memories stoke the fire inside our dreams, and make them run throughout the body as they meet the silent arch. Where something bends as it breathes with pure music in a minute of the superficial melody.
What unlearned pain will we look for in the street that once possessed joy? Will it come to sit with us at the coffee table in the dark of a cafe in dry winter? What unknown steps will take us to new beginnings, to the station that we have seen prepared before us? What landscapes are read in a verse? Which will be indispensable at night? Like a certain smile that goes from one side of the lips to the other.
I open the cage of sinister birds, so that may I prefigure the safety of me. I commit my time in this as my fire of channels, like my confusion of heights and ages, because they’re impenetrable and misunderstood. And the one only thing I hear in a low voice is the movement of you.
Submerged within God in the middle of shadows with the devil in the middle of the light as they have coexisted for a long time. Under tall buildings and along bridges where sound cuts between the time of something, and the invisible of nowhere.
At the foot of the cool night of great abstractions and the low worlds of spherical calculation, trembling between the sane and the unusual, time is an interchangeable introspection, where everything seems still, yet is separate.
On the eve of the night with a hug that’s irreparable. His lanky hand‘s accommodating, silently we know what splendid disorder is, we know rigorous annoyance and our postponement’s never specified.
My only open window comes out humming songs of months already lost. And only opens windows that look out on pedestrians. As I turn my gaze half hidden toward the sun.