The nights that brought me you
are the days of priceless sorrows, irreplaceable,
I hold them, like a craftsman holds his masterpiece.
In the rain we dreamed of snow,
in the snow we dreamed of rain, thru windows immemorial,
thru a golden endless chain,
a powerful antiquity. Mirrors disbelieved everywhere,
like eyes of gods, many wish to cover them,
none would try to break them.
It is through reflecting we unbecome, it is through reflecting
that we cease,
to pronounce shadow, to acknowledge, and release.
But how circular turns infinity!
Nothing belongs to the rain, although it has everything
to wash away, miniscule worlds, memories
nothing can or would reanimate. Beyond the conundrum
beyond simplicities deemed bizarre, beyond word and voice
full stops at the ends of sentences.
And what of those sentences? What is there within them?
Something almost not mysterious? Something more than
Boundaries must be blurred for the trickster to be seen.
There are far more than these rituals that convene,
these orders of identities!