Like an earthquake in a still morning,
When lovers linger half- asleep in
Their lovers keld of electricity,
Their songs, are still alive
I love so many places
that are becoming invisible ...
good day... Light of my sky.
You will not love me again,
As soon as I saw it,
I wrote to you,
with you, I will make my people, our people;
I was transported to the world,
in the wind, hidden Below the flowers out of the rock.
in the deepest pools of trees.
The Lyraeon in the Valley.
The eagle,is an ancient warrior eagle,
Outside of worlds
and before the numbers,
He soared unwatchable
In the sempiternal hands of god.
I am with you, still my son.
between our bodies are "Hundred fields" galaxies,
thirsty with waves of death,
flourishing in old age ,
Even now, long before the coming day
before the coming of the day of days.
When the sun has appointed
more black to the seas level ;
And the rain will be swallowed up by the sky,
... rain, wind and silent colors an adagio in b minor played upon
A cello of storms...
Old, old,elder storms
that hold to their violence
Yet, the killing;
Is an agonizing death,
Here On the landless planet,
Where I am the only island,
Adrift because, I can not forget ,
Until I am nothing,
I will live for a very slight, if.
I will continue,
throwing stones of fire
At the pages of reality
That won't even sound like raindrops
On the windows of minutes
from the walls That hinder the light of the Spirit;
Laughing you to sleep,
Dreams do not say goodbye.
the air and resentment
and the cold are the killers
crushing teeth of concrete winters
