The eye abolishes the residual nothing
And leaves me with you, imagine without time and space
Quite unlike a dream where you know all the ways
Charging myself for the price of the language
not being mortified by
nor exhausted as a star foreboding
The obsession its signal diverges.
We’ve got us the secret routes of the senses
The ones that drive birds inside a fixed speech
We have oaths and caresses
Like feigned embroideries of our devoted weaves
Whose emotion mends the said least.
Here the eyelid opens and deepens the breach.
Flowers are not floral
Up the symbol looks death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem