(of time from night to dawn)
(i)
Night without stars.
Blight-devoured sparks,
leaving no scars.
Onyx without a tapered
dancing crystal
from an insect's sneeze.
No glow worm
bouncing around
to light up
a speck of dusty coal.
No speck from a strayed
flash; no dash
from a spear's dark dot
cutting off
the world's script
of hieroglyphics
from a broken tail
of glided lightning.
Darkness swallows
fingers of light,
and pierce ecru palm lines,
leaving only a fist
of darkness
to punch through
and through.
(ii)
Leaving eyes
in the dusty charcoal
core of a cold
unglowed hearth -
with no moth speck
flitting, fleeing
across night's sprayed ash
thickening, dark,
in spirals, but spinning
no tourmaline -
no black bead I can wear
to complete
the garland of sniveled
digging pain
with a noose of black beads
hanging down my neck.
Crucifying me
to the silhouette
of a carob tree
flipping out arms
to swing across
with leafy darkish branches
stretched out,
a cross's horizontal line,
the only light
etched out
on a stony darkness.
(iii)
But night's boulder cracks
into tentacles
of light bounced off
the head of a far-flung sun
paving the lit road
of night undressing itself
into beams
cruising into full light
without scars of night.
The candle's trunk of dawn rises
from a tapered splash
in its mouth
blurting out life's continuity
from a dark patch
of night shutting its door
to more darkness
of sniveling eyes and nostrils.
Growing, swelling
into the cackling mouths
of crowing cocks
lighting up crimson canvasses
of a ginning painter's sky,
as dawn with downy barbs
blows into insects' whistles.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem