by Dorina Brândusa Landén
What bell rings with its center flooded by light
up to the ethereal edge of the kingdom
of God and people?
Echoes are bawling. Echoes are answering
like in a forest with red trees
leaving all the rest for space
a fragmented space by a touch of green
a green like a swamp where starlings are wallow.
What waves are struggling over the world and what light
is flowing like rain through the dioptrics of air!
The night’s about to be breathing in
in a greenhouse
an amphitheater of fire with tongues
hissing old spells.
In the snow sparking on green
silvern by light and undulation
trapped in a smoke ring
an elderly moose is dying.
With retinal tear frozen
stripped of pride though so stunning
stuck in the center of a boreal flow
knowing that his wound is mortal
the moose lies calm
with his horns hung by the echo of the forest.
With its lyrical beauty Aurora
Boreal – a dazzled witch -
will take his soul in her den
to dream of fir buds.
With the fingers of my mind I touch -
late consolation -
ramped ailing eyelids
but in my hand is fretting
my aged hefty heart
it doesn’t stop beating
at world’s dawn
time has come
to merge its body with the earth
becoming part of a larger figure.
Eternity runs thicker than water
denser than blood.
The stars starred at worlds sliding into one another.
The marble bones of the lions collapse into an abyss.
History begins and ends into darkness.
Last updated February 14, 2013