Crumpled in the mass of thorns
I'm stuck, without a road
without a voice.
Fall will arrive
I will think of you
will you
still be pale, laying down on your side? -
Pale and on your side, void of dreams, bent with a bit of blood
around your lips,
solely
listening to the echoes of the galloping horses
inside the wide mirror fields
empty fields, clear, convulsive and captivated
inside the glasses
and a flower stem in your hand
to place upon the lips of your first savior horseman
a horseman without a body
without a horse
without the limits of time
erected inside the dreams.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment