Ramifications of gill-wings
Suckled on cold blood.
Endlessly alone in slippery corridors,
Shapes of air, shapes of moon,
In all this floating where to hold on?
Rubbing the body, to create a fire
In the hotel of unborn words,
Bessie love in Paris, 1928
In the night words are wandering
Like shadows inside the head,
Gliding across the marble of water.
A golden rod interrupts the flow,
Writing in reverse upon black water,
Redeems sentences through waves,
Kindles a turmoil of signs
In mirror transparency.
Trembling words search for a new order,
Asking the moon for orientation
In the dome of interwoven words.
Escape from the belly of ramified echoes,
Whirling around the heart-pulse of the whale.
My shadow invents its fever,
Clasps the cold throb
Sending flames of light
In the center of the heart.
Uncertain if love contains deliverance within the fire.
The grain of seed in the word,
Nourished in darkness,
Unable to fasten the heart-knot,
Is light and shadow at once,
Floating in the sphere.
A drop of air and water
Takes shape within the whale
As a scream.
Birth of words,
Resounding across the waves,
Gliding towards the sun.