night of passacaglia
On the edge of the fumaroles
full nostrils open
To tell each other witty things
right and left.      
 
Low water register   
After rolling   
With a forward roll   
There was flight of the angel   
Trusted by the reception.      
 
Eternal Sylve   
Waiting from one star to the other   
Such gallant green   
Walk backwards   
Without retracing his steps.      
 
Nail of bitter words   
Gesturing with five fingers   
Be golden nodules   
Ascending towards Astrée   
Silence in deep waters.      
 
1095