Tears in the house
 sadness turns the key
 the door creaks
 the walls bear the damp
 her beautiful clear eyes flicker .

 And yet
 no trace of ash
 life is still hot
 among the clouds
 that the moon envelops .

 A fur covers the fear
 of her bare breasts
 feeding his soul
 the timid fires of speech
 become bat flight .

 take leave
 opposite of the day
 when the children are sleeping
 when cold sighs rise
 like the mist at the bottom of the valley .

 Hard as a stone
 the unloved pious flower
 has become an undone candle ,
 shrivelled sheet of paper
 under the goose step of a rise of bile .

 To the double message of the dream
 our arms embrace tenderness
 in extinguished fire weather
 the walk is rushed
 under the starry chiffonade .

 In excess of vigor
 sluggishness follows
 out of the spirit cave
 the dark presentiment
 becomes a dead leaf .

 Ni forme ni visage
 in this sowing
 the converted woman and man
 pass from porch to porch
 sign the page of a draft .

 Push the door
 bring in the great net of imposture
 under the laughter of a languid sleep
 cross the North Bridge
 fear that the tide will take us .

 We the wise ramblers
 weights of ripe fruit
 on the ringing cobblestones
 cinglent us souvenirs
 without understanding , timely .

 A square glow
 blow out the candle of the ending day
 flowers and tears seize the moment
 the sea rushes
 I remain .



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