In this deranged, fertile light -
which makes shadier our sight
-, come and sit with me, right
here to join the passage's rite
of a generous dark to find.
Unlit your cigarette with that sleight
move by offering it to the night
and, from the ashtray of dreams and might,
augur my future; see the fright
for armoring me against its smite.
And say: I bound all these tribes of kite
and bury you under the ashes and blight;
deep inside the hallways of the iron hill to quite.
Burn - you say -, and they all become trite
for they only promised me two-tongued daylight
but, now on, all I can see is the fire of my dark bright.

My wings became the shadow of the past,
yet still echoing their flight
for you are the space
that holds together their mass
and breathes matter again into them.

I am in love with your reflection,
the one you refuse to see,
I am yearning to hear your song,
the one your voice deny singing.
My well-known stranger,
my learned unbeknown;
dying to accept - living in denial.
A dream
which is fated to remain
a fantasy.

Traveling by the
speed of light just to bend time
and space I came to

cross over unknown
galaxies for reaching your fond
hex-black singularity.

I will give you
mountains,
with jagged
                     edges
that spell your name,

if you say but one word
from your silent lips
All echoes will clash together,
I will make them the triumphant song
of your arrival

a single tremble,
a whisper,
just a careless breath spilling
from your lips
would be enough

I am crumbling to dust
under the weight of your silence,


say one word of love or hate
from your lips meant just for me
and i will
            
give you mountains
jagged with edges that
spell your name

              
give me one sound,
just a hint of your
scarce voice
so I know you still
exist

Every night I’m lulled to sleep,
By the dripping of heavy dew,
By crickets as they play their song,
By the Owl asking, “Who?”

But just before I fall asleep,
I hear a *****’s Scream.
The foxes are mischievous,
As they prance beside the stream.

A moth is fluttering on the glass,
She’s enchanted by the light,
Of the little lamp beside the bed,
To keep away the Night.

And once the light is gone again,
And everything is still,
The cicadas sing a special song.
I’m delighted by their trill.

And when I can’t resist it,
When my time to sleep grows nigh,
I close my eyes and listen,
To a Southern Lullaby.