The Paths of Progress having splintered
my homeland,
the mechanical angel offered its ascent.
An ocean crumbled into night and cathedrals
as the maze of deliberate sleep
drifted far,
far behind.

Drizzle of another dawn exposing
our absolute retreat . . .

Ravings and romance pervade these twelve
partitions,
rugs woven of hair encrust the floor,
and the diluvial lamplight
never really dries
on the appearance of coffins.

The staircase winding up
through the modest salon
platforms a host of hesitant spectres:
the prayers, maledictions and rhythms
of aimless flight
encircling my vigil.

The casements erode.
Beyond: the flat, blue spaces,
battlements rising quick as fire,
rooftops attacked by a patient wind.
Below: the mass of children, peasants
and gypsy movements
evolving.

Mosaics range along the distant hills,
not a bit of homage . . .

In not time at all,
there's the triumph of night.

From adjacent crevasses
opening in the corridor,
a buried obsession and unlooked-for
elegance,
the vampire and princess of legends,
struggle into sight.

Black lips

Cobalt breath

Glittering eyes

And allegros of Murderous Joy !

The visitation rolls across beds of stone
only to sink once more in a shining
chaos.
The barren shelves look down and wait.
The shattered ice prisons distortions . . .

Clear and deliberate,
an echo of compliance
sings out through the mists.