what seduced me into
writing is the veiled figure
of the dark that lifts
its hazy image through
the blinds of this acerbic life.

i annul the language of god,
   the normality of men
  and the sage of old.

let me pour water into this
pale jar, and in it,
high with hope, shall rise
a cornucopia of scriptures.

an inner sense of life
and a depraved longing
  for felicities,

these words test their capacities
and sprint to the length
  of no return.

i am no man's island
  nor a flame's hearth.
these promontories remain dearth
  yet unafraid of fleeting.

if i go unread,
if i am to be forgotten,
   these shall all remain
     and only eyes ready
to seek seamless lights
  shall turn the pages
   and start reading.