Sitting between the knees,
I am being bathed by intense anxiety
and fear of harsh light.
A canopy of doubts
confronts the dignity versus anarchy
for a watchman
who will not dare open-
the vault of truth. A fatal
ire of imagination puts him
to dire need of salvation.
Was I moving from the wrong
side of history in my zodiac
to change the drooping eyelids?
Death opens my door for a shortwhile
and then walks away
after watching the transparencies.
•
The masks come and masks go.
Cracks do not disappear.
Either you destroy me,
or my inside will have
a singingbird,
closing the golden window.
The hardening of atereies.
Tension was rising
around the absence.
Who was the arbitrator
between dog and lamb?
The weather was ripening black currants.