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Should come to my land one day
to „ Sans Souci“, the boughs will split,
and show you the way,
like the Moses did split the sea.
Limpid you enter
grieve you leave, leave.
If those marble angels would salute you
wasting time on belfry, placid giant,
you jump to a highest foremast in June
and hear the echoes from the Vilajica mount.
When you come, if the windward sides in bloom
I ll order the stalactite to carve you a room
in falls of Krka, next to mine
where the slumber s crowned with eye.
You ll walk by the canes
rest from usual things
in bushes of Pantana, that floods
the morass, the austere blood.
When you come, the sister of the sleep,
the tall mutineer,
and bevy of mongers
will take
the glancingly corals
and break away
the golden canary,
they ll turn to ebony.
My voice choked in the window sill
will sing you a calico songs
where once aged the sphinx
faintly of clamor, chains and rings.
Should you come to my land
bring nothing but blandness of your hands
I ll lead you trough highroads of sand
upstairs, as a selfish flower in vase.
Ignis fatuus from the Kamerlengo fort
might scare you and your thoughts
but the fluid that crushed my breasts
will pacify the dander, sweeter it tastes.
And while the waters are on your side
you should maybe leave
while the bridges are whole inside,
for I was a boy with you that grieved.
The bites of a song on my brow,
icon of light warrior once wowed.
Eyeful pierced the golden tray
will disappear as a mist and ray.
Should you come to my land one day
to „ Sans Souci“, the boughs will split,
open the way
like the Moses did split the sea.
Limpid you enter.
Love you leave, you leave.
angel saviour
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