el poema está en la vista
letras escritas en la oscuridad
no para decir
sino para brillar
en lo oscuro
giro alrededor del poema
sepultado en lo insonoro
primero escribo
la última palabra del poema
para volver a encontrar el principio
de la luz
que él había metido
en la voz
Her ankle softly torment on the chest
Released my wings so sharpen and so thin
Into the breath of spring from east to west
And the enchanted world that lies within.
Two flowers blink and misty rivers grow
When I can see my body from above,
When all the riddles have the answer – no,
When Eden’s lost and death is chasing love;
But when I see the sprightly nymph, a thorn
I swear with my hand on the heart
[mine, another’s]
that I know nothing
that I get on the train on my way home
and come off at some Glasgow terminal
that I write on my shopping list b r e a d
and rush through my front door with stolen roses
nowhere is written for how long, until when
but I hear your words climbing my body
like spiders the wonderwall
like ivy the cross
[mine, another’s]
I know nothing
and no book will be able to tell
how a hand is covering your mouth
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