Black Lakes. Cycle.
1.
I dont know what i'm doing:
the line of the dreams -
is crossed between the past and me
but i turn back into the past, in place
where boats are entering
the waters of the gulf in their first time:
Under the yellow leaves
the lead and steel and up there -
boats are awkward
and the lisp of the water over the board.
I love you, my love
The mist is settled
by the heavy drops on metal.
Come with me
for me to not come back:
The fall -
is flash on margin in the mist
and rapid contours of the boats
are heading far away
2.
Tone and grief are all whats left.
Look,
It's you and me,
The day
in which we love each other,
The world
where voices of our youth
had stretched the steel ropes
above the lough,
above the boats with rasped tint,
above the trains which carried firsts.
Come on this bridge,
lets call it memory.
And when the latter will be gone
there will be only grief to stay -
like wine made of herb:
the window is the imminence of glass
in front of which we stay.
3.
City at night is
the lake for the migrant birds.
They go down in its flashes
and the water of the shadows
rounds up above them.
Wake up at midnight and look:
grey murk had shook the city
just like the cinder shook the broil of fire.
We flush through them.
Lead me though this trail
Swords edges
Had left their nests
(it's time of whirl and time for farewell):
I have to be among
these too dark army.
Their lines are moving
like a beast awoke:
and the blackness of steel
makes the image of the lake.
the flow is sheer in the deep
and autumn bay
is covered with the gaudy leaves
1.
I dont know what i'm doing:
the line of the dreams -
is crossed between the past and me
but i turn back into the past, in place
where boats are entering
the waters of the gulf in their first time:
Under the yellow leaves
the lead and steel and up there -
boats are awkward
and the lisp of the water over the board.
I love you, my love
The mist is settled
by the heavy drops on metal.
Come with me
for me to not come back:
The fall -
is flash on margin in the mist
and rapid contours of the boats
are heading far away
2.
Tone and grief are all whats left.
Look,
It's you and me,
The day
in which we love each other,
The world
where voices of our youth
had stretched the steel ropes
above the lough,
above the boats with rasped tint,
above the trains which carried firsts.
Come on this bridge,
lets call it memory.
And when the latter will be gone
there will be only grief to stay -
like wine made of herb:
the window is the imminence of glass
in front of which we stay.
3.
City at night is
the lake for the migrant birds.
They go down in its flashes
and the water of the shadows
rounds up above them.
Wake up at midnight and look:
grey murk had shook the city
just like the cinder shook the broil of fire.
We flush through them.
Lead me though this trail
Swords edges
Had left their nests
(it's time of whirl and time for farewell):
I have to be among
these too dark army.
Their lines are moving
like a beast awoke:
and the blackness of steel
makes the image of the lake.
the flow is sheer in the deep
and autumn bay
is covered with the gaudy leaves
