Ghosts
No watchmaker
trusts his watch
not concerned with
any metaphysics
though the chronic
fears of his profession
become the ghosts of his night.
Has the axle moved off its place?
Are the teeth of the wheel inaccurate?
Are the unimportant tiny screws loosened?
Is an abrupt stop of the battery imminent?
While the whole
future
will be nailed
on the second hand.
CLOUD OF SORROW
Why does our joy, our little joy,
to sadness only lead us?
A cloud of sorrow covers us
and we lean our heads aside.
Sweet sister, now I perish,
compassion only saves me now.
The storks, gray-feathered, fly away
and take with them the swallows.
Why does our joy, our little joy,
to sadness only lead us?
Another winter we have spent
in darkness in a foreign land.
Whispers
Whispers
their song silking through
maiden pubic hair
their lust searching for
tender vulva
Whispers
rhythmic resonance
in kiss of fingers
and their excitable hunt for
youthful consummation
Whispers
movement of legs
under the light bed sheet
impelling space between
a raised leg and the angled one
Morning
Open your eyes and unfold
the black cloth wide and stretch it
open your eyes well, fix your eyes
concentrate, concentrate, now you know
that the black cloth unfolds
not in sleep not in water
not even when the eyelids close wrinkled
and sink at an angle like conches
now that you know that the black skin of the drum
covers your horizon fully
when you open your eyes rested, like that.
Between the vernal equinox and autumn equinox
here are the running waters and here’s the garden
here the bees buzz amid the branches
and chime in the baby’s ears
and the sun, here it is! and the birds of paradise
a great sun greater than light.
