A keresés eredménye

I descend

through the internal gravel of the earth,
where the skeleton of life
is petrified protesting.
Like a river on the contrary,of waters provoked
by dead hallucinations floating led
towards the soul of the earth,
I search for the udders of fire.
 

Loyal Sonnet

Words of silica, roughness,
Rain on the dunes, gorses, hunted
Animals in the midst of morning haze,
The beauty that they have if it is beauty.
 
The work of the Portuguese jointer,
The waves of handcrafted woods
Leaving behind their blaze in the sands,
The loneliness clotted up atop the table.
 
The syllables of cedar wood, of paper,
The vegetable foam, the seal of water,
Falling into my hands from the beginning.
 
The lampshade, its loyal moonlight,
Insinuating without love or heartache
The night that besieged my craft.
 

Childhood

Enormous
dreams like cedar trees
that it is necessary
to bring from faraway
to the shoulders
to find
in the winter of the memory
this rustling
of flame:
your perfume,
firewood
of melancholy.
 

Edgar Allen Poe

The winter in Boston was brief.He drank.Syllables
opened themselves one by one through the tunes of the room.Drops
Of alcohol.Who remembers the fallen rain in his
name?
He perused all night through the ancestral books and discov-
ered anything,no one knows what it may be,perhaps the
portrait of Annabel Lee.He sketched it out on the window pane car-
ried with shadow and the room dawned.
'But that matters little(says the black magic),the filter
merely decomposed earlier the horror in light,it did not
alter the loneliness of the days,that the night separates one
from the others always'.