VI. (The Moment Finally Arrived)

It did arrive, finally, the second in front of the mirrors that overlay the external walls of the house where you left your lover forever disheveled, it's time to hoist your black flag to the top of the early blossoming acacia. You can hear the sharp, cutting band of the regiment of the blind, the sole one which remained faithful to you. You place on your mask, you attach black lace to the sleeve of your ashen style of dress you climb the tree, the enclosures of the flag embrace you. The flight starts. No, nobody knew by what means to flutter around this house like you did. Night falls, you float upon your back, the mirrors of the house bend above you to pick up your shadow, the stars fall and rip your mask, your organ of visions run into your heart within which the sycamore ignited its leaves, the stars also sink there, all, to the true last one of them, a smaller bird, death, gravitates around you, and your dreamy cavity between the jaws utters your name.

Copyright World metrical composition Incorporated Jul/Aug 1999

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