by Dorina Brândusa Landén
A bewildering afternoon
where silence swam through my body
balances the movement of the air -
never ending shiver -
the ephemera is digging itself a shelter
under my ribs
it takes me beyond the brutal
and the stunning world
blind as a bee
whiffing of acacia honey.
A pellucid wind sweeps
the gardens of the summer
in an artesian of leaves.
Bleeding chrysanthemums and cineraria -
resting of flakes
on the hips of the earth
collapsing like a decaying god.
Nature is peeling itself of life.
The universe mellowed up to the lowest notch.
A stone a fluid root
a rambling thought
marks the hour at the crossroads
of the night and of the cold - space filled
with the remains of a grim agreement
between the solar light of the seasons
and a bird’s lost cry.
My friend
our expectation is over in the garden
it's time to open our eyes
in an empty square space
forcing one to follow
the other in the dark:
you - with bloody hands
on which are still lingering
the falcons’ feathers flashing the sky
broad bridge between past and future
I – an infant born from a laved memory
I can touch the dark depth of a rose
until the blackness
opens and is set on fire.
Last updated May 25, 2014