| I was walking in the dust
|
| Through the half-closed spaces
|
| Incrustations of mud and dew
|
| Resins dripped in the stone.
|
| I discerned a man, alone,
|
| Frightened eyes, red of pain.
|
| I was walking in the pale wintry sun
|
| Through the substrates of the wind
|
| Mosaics of clouds like raging herds.
|
| I discerned a crow, fierce, scanning the horizon…
|
| Vitreous eyes… and silver tears…
|
| Notes of a new pentagram,
|
| White pages ready to shelter obscure mysteries.
|
| I was walking in the dust
|
| Through the half-closed spaces
|
| Incrustations of mud and dew
|
| Resins dripped in the stone.
|
| I discerned a man, alone,
|
| Frightened eyes, red of pain.
|
| These are the days of the after and behind,
|
| The days of the present, that rolls by slow and full.
|
| I was walking in the dust
|
| Through the half-closed spaces
|
| Mosaics of clouds like raging herds.
|
| I was walking in the dust
|
| Through the half-closed spaces
|
| Vitreous eyes and silver tears. |