Cercueils de plomb dormaient à poings fermés
Comme fleurs de plomb, funéraire vêtement –
Moi. Le caveau !... il y faisait du vent.
Pour faire pendant, couronnes de plomb grinçaient.
Dos tourné, mon amour de plomb dormait
Sur fleurs de plomb ; j’entrepris de l’appeler –
Le mort – seul. Et moi… le froid y régnait…
Sub pleoape nu i se ascunde-un soare,
Mărgeanul de pe buze i-a pălit,
De-i albă neaua, sânul ei îmi pare
Posomorât iar păru-i - de-antracit;
Petala roze-i alb-trandafirie
Și fragedă, cum nu-i al ei obraz
Și mult mai multe-arome te îmbie
Decât al respirației talaz;
Ador să o ascult ca-ntâia-oară,
Deși dintr-ânsa nu răsare-un cânt
Și chiar de cred zeițele că zboară,
I kissed you secretly every time you brought rain
in the unknown space between hieroglyphs
your distant breath raised silence
a lateen of blood gliding on heart through the soft snow
I kissed you secretly every time you brought blight
into dark days
I waited for your growing from the stones’ flesh
across the salt that veiled
my past with the same dry tumor
I start putting together colorful pieces of glass, a winding mosaic
reminding me of gaudi
he never saw it but you know lately
he used to lift his glasses up on his nose
with the hand holding a pencil
and he would tell me there’s still time for a walk
let’s have something to eat first
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