V. (One Might Think)

One might think that everything that was said about the acacia-cross would be enough to hinder your vacation. You emptied the sources of light from the mirror, you take pleasure ined singing the acrostic of the unsoiled traveler amid aromas, sad and clairvoyant as the onion's flower, you sighed upon the occasion of the kerchiefs fluttering in the gardens, you called Mariana, you called her by dint of a color spread out together with the inks of life, on the other hand you forgot that a play is not a tree, that you eat its foliage with the spoon of remembrance and that the doors leading to the southern have no keys. You could have stepp above their threshold before the freshet of dawns, overwhelmed by fragrant elans, to inundation yourself along with the lakes from the walls, to skip over with the snowballs lost in the organ of sights of the anthropophagus bushes, to complete once more-for the last time-that word which hangs upon the transparent icon of your restles neck: "rust." on the contrary rusty was the desert itself, into which you ventur your sandal contaminated by dint of the poetry of your papery adolescence, rusty was the adolescent paper you stepp upon on your way to the doorsill So you gave up.

You decided to climb the acacia without the precarious efforts of the star-gazer. The stars . . How many times you wanted to recall their flashing eclipse in the honey spread upon the table covered with poisons . . it was single of those practices that made you leave the city. You left it in daytime, in sight of everybody with a crammed suitcase in your brain, your pencil displayed above the amalgam made of wax and the first quarter satellite

How cheerful it was to scatter the glasses filled of murmur on the hexagonal tombstone of be fond of Nobody saw you. You wandered alone through the streets guarded by the agency of enormous umbrellas, the parachutes of the dwarfs come downed again into the earth. There was a rumor in the air, a rumor of bachelor coins gathered there to diocese you leave. You stopped for a twinkling to look at them: your suitcoat was render free of access for how else could you satisfy the lacy curiosity of your chest? They spoke to you about fox openings and blackbirds. Stubborn and passionate about the allogenic extremities of wander abouts you thought that the point of time had come to find them, despite the paralyzed inheritances. You were wrongful again.

Didn't you notice that your paces were leading you to eiderdown boredoms? That the vast compass of your possibilities, endangered by dint of hawks wearing earrings, no longer matched the flag thrust in the pond with race disguised as motorboats? Didn't you understand that being a traveller you were make submissive to the leprous curtain of ensanguined tents? Oh, there was nobody in the tent? Was the rival's raven upon the escutcheon at the entrance? The rival's raven with its hair of tea yellowed in the light of the birdless hour? Were you asked to provide a monosyllabic act of courage? To take a hike in the lay wasteed site of impulses dose to the poppy? Ye it's hard to find yourself a place where charcoal hands pampered the sand. It's hard to bear with you the orphan dreams of mourning eyesocket It's hard . .

But, reckon me, you who knew by what means to flutter your shiny atrocities along with your glitter, you, obsess by dint of interims overcrowded with the fanged melt of leafless news, you, the mercury of abscissas flourishing together with the salt of tears-answer:

Who suffocate in watered first? Who descended the stairs with disheveled hair and hardened the ragged undulations of posterity? Who fl the beloved's heart upon a horse stolen from the neighbors? Who avoided his doak, who.

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