Large triangles of obscurity squeezing
so you may float in
my waters running up
over the valley
with colourfast steps folding
our acute lives
to want, to beg oblivion
Every night I pick myself up and
I fall to the deaths
within me with the slow, prolonged eye
with the wide, opening wound
a furtive, infectious reincarnation.
And every white, frozen morning
my essence is quickly dispersed through
the words
through the meanings and inventions
launched between the brain and the universe
of cyclical, irascible possibilities.
And every white morning I reconstruct your embrace
between the brain
and the universe of cyclical and irascible
possibilities overflying between soul and mind.
