Glacier cut of the moon
knife steel through clouds
bled as shadows
in flight
It is not dead
Walk dry woody spires
of autumn
close by sea green tussocks
and lamina swollen vesicles
abandoned sirens naked
yellow like a fragrance and a song
This is not dead
Death cannot die over and over
mercilessly undress the minutes
the days the years
unweave the heavy loom of dreams
About too, sun losing-light leaving
weak melancholic images
reflection coven of cold windows
Wait there
I will come
About too, the fierce wind
flames entering skin
which is silence
we, you and I
have no ancestors except
the wet adagio of water falling
Silence that is skin
makes paler the sun
which is innocence
You lay always hanging
from the edge of my skin
Now fallen to earth
embraced by your autumn arms
I cannot breathe as much as I want
I am buried and blameless
the soil of this absurdity
this miracle
in my mouth
I will still come for you
before I sleep
It is not far, my love
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