The Golden Thread Springs from Love

I take root and meaning from the honey’s light –
since beauty beweds new rhythms due to myself,
in the vivid-violet blue water, at the abysm’s waterfall,
where few are those who kiss the absolute and where, from

the farthest remoteness, dandelion hearts cease to be heard ;
felicities in the lights – dimensions within the octads,

in the plenteousness of autumn’s cave, of the riverbed,
at the sublime boundary, barren of the fierce uranium –
and the fate of the Fortunate Light, in the copper space,
coronates the zenith, the rainbow revives
over the field of truth, in the sight of the being –

since the wellspring’s golden thread gushes forth from love…

A Crucified Poem…

A crucified poem…

My blood’s teardrops course down into my vowels,

my blood’s stalagmites dry in my consonants,

my own blood wrinkles the sour cherries in the orchards…

A crucified poem…

My human tongue cut with the pruning shears,

the dog’s tongue severed by the cleaver

of a harum-scarum government,

the swan’s tongue pulled out by the tongs

of a dentist fallen from the skies…

A crucified poem…

My fortune gasps on the dissection table

of the Three Fates, the destiny sneezes :

the star flour steals into

its nostrils,

my wedding shifts from the marshes into the Heavens…

English version by Gabriela PACHIA