Immortal, of gold and iron
And white wings
He is made,
They tell me, and with wide eyes
I listen.

Later, they say he is
An abstract, dark figure
With no face and no own heart,
And my thoughts grow louder.

And louder still,
Until I- strangely amused-
Discover the golden shine-
The iron twist in my skin-
And feel an odd pain
Between my shoulder blades.

Last night I saw
Little white half-moons
Surrounding my body
In a swirling echo.