When ivy strangles the bust of
generals
And the watches of secretaries are stricking ten,
I'll crawl back to you, my moonlight meadow,
Silent like a subterraneous Nile.
I want back the unrest,
The musics that you robbed me of,
And the fata morgana
We would chase through the alleys of that endless midnight
Just for the pleasure of watching it recede before us.
My life is a sequence of conditionals:
Ever since you left
I'm guarded no more
By the magic of your everyday chores.
There are days I'll forget to look up the sky,
And many, many times
My lefthand side is crushed
by the almost unbearable certitude
Of knowing you'll be waking up somewhere,
Warmer than a dove,
And I can't be there to witness the miracle.
When ivy strangles the bust of secretaries,
And the watches of generals have struck ten,
I'll be gone already.
Look for me by the other side of the window:
I'll be a raft in the open night,
Drifting across frosty constellations.
Someone that's me has been writing this; still,
there is so much I will never understand.
Let us love each other:
I see your trail in the flight of birds,
Your face in the lines of I Ching.
