Poetry

The Open Night

3 December 2019

I feel myself in the open night

Planting woad and chicory,

They are familiar with each other’s ways 

 

You, this forgotten shadow,

That rests in a flowering memory

Is the kiss of root and berry.

 

Because they muttered words;

Language mixed with libido 

 

I’m unable to see you closely:

These shadows in the thunderbolts

Beckon in full bloom.

 

Growing rare in the torment 

Now living, loving, spent.

We are born, forever in the shadows. 


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