Weaving a World

An image

Emerging — from caves in my memory
to the space
with dead singing birds,
through the only hole in the darkness,
(emerging) with minerals I shaped with my blood into trees
(trees) that won't throw shades onto the mirrors of its (own) figures
emerging to the wind (air) with my self and wings,
Who will be (treasuring) a road for me
as I walk alone
towards my homeland
when I bear a sun
and stride towards my body
darkened in the open fire?


Because I am here, alone
in the wilderness, and without a secret
since (last) burnt


I had to search for a moon
to face a woman
in the distant fields: nakedness facing nakedness
to search for a homeland that shields itself
from the winter of absence
behind the glow of her fingers
(a homeland that feeds itself) from the sacred milk of her breast
I had to shield


from its blood
(with)in my own blood
I had to say farewell and welcome
to the throne of lit sky
and to let (the blood of) a wound gush out
(by forgetting it)
against this space!
Another Time
I had to be acquainted with my own trees
To wed my self (and) its own anecdote
From the dress of the dense air
To tears
that won't sew a coffin (suit)
I had to say my word
And head off to the cave of my soul
A stranger (with/carrying) my fruits and (led by) her fingers
Because — I am the Light
wearing the wings of Earth
and I am the Wound
sewing the blood of the heart
Because — I am Darkness
and my name is vaster than (all) places:
The Day that is soiled by Day(light)
on my step
I strip the Night of it
And walk on Time expanding on my way.

The Weave of the fingers

The one suspended from the ceiling
Though silent and longing for his ancestors always
desires for his blood to
Always longs for someone to lead his fingers
to be the birds that won't sing his funeral (death)
As if the only creature who won't die alone
Is the creature of thread
He pulls his nail off the wall texture
As if the only creature who won't live alone
s the spider creature


How were you leading a moon towards me
when I distinguish (wipe) your tears (between) my fingers
between my fingers as I light up your longing
as you lead a knife (dagger) towards me?
How was I here and there?
How one we were?!


When I was naked (completely stripped) by myself
Without need for food
desiring only your illusive secret(s )
mulberry leaves themselves were not mulberry leaves
how can I wear them
in my strange (mysterious) longing
to a creature that never die?!


May you be a green body O poem
May you be an utterance/ a language
In which I stray with
my wings and self
A breathe on my tongue
So that I graze
the tribes of my voice - silent as they are
insomniac I see
That you will not be a green body you were not
a kind master to be bought
not a goddess
O my desired delirium my memory!


Why were you a thirsty body next to me
in my bed; naked only the sky is your cover
and the stars are your roof?! (your roof is a sky studded by stars)
Why were you the deep waters in my body
when I was the clouds of rain
clouds akin to the doves from which souls flutter
clouds that quench my thirst from its sleepiness
sweating in distant winters?
Why were you the (bristly) spears of insomnia
against my heart
the friendly winds in my body
when I was the clouds of rain?!
Why you were the only one there
naked under the altar of my being
when I move the sky aside and hold the birds of eternity (with my hand)


You were the thirsty body
next to mine in bed, the sky
your blanket and the constellations your roof: why?
You were the deep waters in my body
when, sweating through winter, I daydreamed I was a cloud
of rain, dove-white, aflutter with souls: why?
You were the barbs of insomnia
tearing my breast, and the friendly winds
coursing through me, driving these streaming rain-clouds: why?
You, naked, were the only one present at the sacred
instant when, moving the sky to one side,
I reached out and caught hold of the birds of eternity: why?

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