On the wings of winds

The cicadas still upon the leaves
And the waters speaking under my body
With perfumes of an erotic night
Naked memory of the world

This is how i will depart bearing Junes
And as an icon that's gotten old
And smells of a saint's cloth
I will lay out my parts
Fractured
So that one by one out of them
The centuries of Sibylla will emerge
And all the unknown inscriptions will scent
Tender
Containing the Impossible
Like the drop of blood that contains
The abyss with the seven angels
Those who are tender
And the voice the one who evangelises

This is how I will carry on evangelising
Until my last drop of blood
The one alight on a silver candlestick
And from the open window
The storm rages
Hauls of prophecies on my body
Flowing towards unknown ruins
Where the hidden sun burns them.

From the open window the night
Ascending
And my room floats full of stars
Iridescent by the Invisible

I lay down to sleep in heaven
And my dreams phosphorescent
With fragments of unknown memory
Since
Plato signed my identity
With a sky blue seal
And with an angel's wing for the road

And here I am like an old house
With creaking floors
And from the storm's window
I smell the silver of my angel
Who stands sleepless on the eaves

I am light as a house fallen asleep
With all the faucets running
I bathe in full moon
And listen to the ghosts at night
That inhabit me for centuries now
Moving restlessly in my sleep

Full of shipwrecks and old heavens.