I. Nostalgic voices and their amber staggers reunited
With the crepuscular sidewalk
Larks of hope in the net of darkness
Estuaries of dreams terminating in the sea of weeping

Hearts and carillons of dissensions and thorns
Light becomes the miscarriage of night
In Turin’s shroud of tears
Atop the shadowy river of kisses

The world asleep in an alabaster tunic
With foamy countering tributaries of laughter
Gesticulating hands of solitary pigeons moist
With dew’s pity; rosy trunks where oblivion roosts

A Gypsy song careening
Through salubrious hearths barefoot
Severing into staffs and boisterous octaves
Alighting as clowns with parasols
With vellums of inscrutable numbers
Forlorn names of Eve and Esther

Butterfly of anonymity and unrealized beliefs
Abandons the enfolded, decimated chrysalis
And you the circle of my arms
Unabridged woman,
Handful of doves over my warring heart

II. The stars are but the moon’s lackeys
Pacing to ashen summits of vacant hearts,
Tulips as if ghettos liquidated,
By winter’s mercenaries, of stamens

Fury’s penitentiary of subdued flutes, of infatuation,
That swells as if a sprig encapsulated
Within an autumnal soul

The fish of hope in the grasp of the fishmonger
Train of detainees gagged by the vigilante sky

Comets enveloped, in a brawl over a sensual rose
Fragmented the earth’s tendons of pine

Tanks of hills razing brothels of anguish’s wineglasses
Mares salute Heaven’s carillons,
With clouds as if kerchiefs,
That pervade in a thousand dread-clad wells
And a bloodstained carnation of your mouth

You were the laurel clutch
Of my crestfallen psyche of crosses

III. Everything is cast of time
Even the song promulgating the tear
And the form nostalgia forged
In warehouses
That heaped scrolls of cerulean shells,
The moon’s globules of tears
Spring that rose from the accordion
And your azure eyes and the mesh of kisses
Mountain still infatuated with the thyme grove

Heady scent of jasmine’s incense in the golden
Chapel of arms’ crucifixes

Shadowy boat of a lover’s mouth in the waters of time
Bedrock of severed words in their padlocks of clandestinity
Garment of kisses to last an eternity of initiations
We are no longer in the moat of a triumphant kiss,
Under blood’s mausoleum of diverging roots

A loam in the vagueness of a verdant night where:
Uncertainty feeds of brioches, certainty kneaded
Shadows coalescing under the sermons of embers
Dreams dissipating into topazes death groped
Gelid pubis with a palisade of projectiles

Everything of that implacability remains
Mountains of happiness,
Trains of dreams,
Canals of embraces
But the sick, mangy canine of love,
Cot of yesterdays
Marionette of a pitiful cloud

In the cesspool of tresses
You are the vase of the fount,
Curves of my reverberating homeland
Scales of hope’s fish, glaze of a brumal breath
Blinding sweetness’s translucent window
Upon the twisted alley of dream,

Forged on sky’s stiff ring,
Morphing oblivion into
Insurmountable memories,
Dissevering hazes into esteems

Its axles snowing into your soul,
Inebriated wines in freedom’s flasks
Blue glints of love tingeing
The canvas of the sea’s vernal Leda,
Leather cygnet traversing a sea
Of zygotes and zithers

It was ours; it was no one’s