When death dies
from the Medusa’s arrows:
...
I could walk but I couldn’t see
all those people running to be free.
...
All along the watchtower
I am boxing with a flower
...
Gazing with my eyes
I see the sun sailing away.
...
Missing the laughter,
the innocence of tease,
ghost-gnawed, shadow-drowned.
...
It is September,
but under the whispering light
of the Southern Cross
the Spring is weaving its birth.
...