The Island Chapel


(Crossing no. 3)

I am a bird
originating not from the empire
of the Dead
but from the bottom of a
female valley
blinded to better
hear waves and goddesses

I preferred the waves
to the sea.

Feeding on the setting sun
I¹m desperately trying
to spend this dark night with an Angel.

sumptuous days
precede my birth
as if they were the coldness
of the snow
shipwrecked is my memory

The linden leaves are
in turmoil
when a tree postpones its

I am the interplay of day and night.

Rambling under the pregnant moon
unbeliever in my own existence
I inhabit the sleep of the dead who,
introduced by archangels
to dark secrets,
pursue their quest....
ferocious is the truth which
manifests itself solely in the
lie of the poem.

(Crossing no. 4)

I go
with speed and love
into the night

the hour hovers
between the bread
the faucet
and the sadness

sorrow sorrowful sorrow
the bridges¹ escape
under the arch
and the green water
the immense gaze of Nothingness

crepuscular twilight
cutting the red sky in two
I am woman
succulent grown
with webbed feet
a crocodile¹s smile between
my teeth

raving mad a man came down the
recapitulating his death

the night has devoured its stars
gutters explode
we¹re animals with no pride

trumpet gathering its
love takes the form
of absinths and thorns