Saturday, December 1, 2012

The secrets of her ridiculous language

The secrets of her ridiculous language,
the halls of her libraries, the white light
of the Sun reflected in the Moon. I live
without a language, I become the dreams

I have. The object of my thought resembles
the spectacle of heaven, I assemble
the figures in a pattern that describes
the movement of the planets. Her language

is beyond sense, the sacred and ridiculous
secret remains unknown. I study the painters,
the poets and the singers, tones and modes

from plural shrines. The secrets of her body,
the doors of her government, the white light
revealing the text of which she is composed.

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