The world weighs malicious and solemn in my roots.
I accept your hands, your joy, my delirium.
If you return, if you dream, your image in the night
will recognize me.
My blood of magic flows toward you, beneath the
prophecy of dawn.
When I place my brow on that melody,
I recover for an instant the
I live without wood or fire,
dreaming at your feet.
Because we find ourselves in the world, the frightening
covers us. From head to toe I am the great hesitation of man.
Bleak, I swallow fog and oblivion by the pitcher.
We weren't going to make incursions into the place occupied by the ray
with arms of oak: its fury would clear our poor head, full of wine and
vain illusions. You are the one speaking to me, sir who arranges the
sparklers in a row (I repeat their echo, swallow their desire and their
thorn); it is you who stains the paper on the table, while the actual
hunt occurs where there are no limits, maybe in this visceral crevice
at the edge of the beautiful fable and the distant luster.
WE ARE SURROUNDED BY STRANGENESS
We are surrounded by strangeness
with its spring that drinks us
Strange, the red grapes
we will continue chewing
the vast April moments
where your path and mine
at the edge of thick trees
and beloved countries
crude winter’s guard
is stalking us
and we ignore the weight of our arms
if they’ll be of any use
if the air will be fresh or humid in April
or if the flowering grenadine will sustain us in distress.