Dear Mother, in a dream

I cross livid landscapes,

a black mountain that always

twists to reach the other mountain,

where you continue to remain vaguely,

but there always is another round mountain

to encompass, to pay the passage

to the mountain of your pleasure,

of my pleasure.

But, at intervals, you proceed making

a road of deceptions and of spoils.

We two journey sensing each other,

knowing each other,

but we cannot see each other in the eyes,

and we cannot exchange words,

like Eurydice and Orpheus alone,

the two fulfilling an oath or punishment, 

both with broken feet and accent.

But at times, you are not at my side:

I carry you inside of me, an anguished 

and loving weight, and at the same time; 

I am like a child galley slave

with his father galley slave,

and it is necessary to string together 

the repetitious hills, 

without revealing the painful secret:

that I am carrying you away, 

stolen from the cruel gods, 

we go forward to a God that belongs to us.

And at other times,

you are not on the hills straight ahead. 

You don't go away with me. 

You don't flee in my breath.

You have dissolved in the fog of the mountains. 

You have given into the livid landscape. 

You respond to me with a sarcasticvoice, 

from three points, and in pain, I am shattered, 

because my body is one, 

that which you gave me, 

and you are water with a hundred eyes,

and you the thousand-armed countryside, 

never again to he what the beloved are:

one live heart over another live heart,

a bronze knot softened by tears. 

And we never are, we never remain 

As they Say the glorious ones remain, 

before their God, in two rings of light 

or in two amazed medallions,

joined together in a glorious ray 

or lying in deep on a golden riverbed.

Oh I search for you

and you don't know that I am searching for you, 

or you go with me, and I don't see your face; 

or you go off within me because of a terrible pact, 

without responding to me with your deaf body, 

always through the rosary of hills 

that charge blood to give pleasure; 

they make each one dance in turn, 

until the moment of the burning temples, 

of old insanity's rattlesnake, 

and the trap in the red vortex!
 
 
 

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Page last edited February 14, 2000
by: PhoneBoy