l'aube

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In this hour between darkness and light, When the big-headed demons roar by On their small appendages, I turn and shield my face from the Upturned morning sand, flying feverishly Because the large phantoms, roaring by, Knows not stealth, nor quietude And as my unconscious corpse Immersed in fog and vagueness of direction, I think of you, Asleep and dreaming somewhere in the other way, Then, am I removed from the smog and stench Of the un-gloried drawn, awaking unwittingly. In front is a desolate line of wasted time, Sitting still and stiller till time stopped fully, But I am wrapped in the comfort of Your sleeping limbs, Breathing softly, unknowingly, As a child would sleep And here, touching barely upon the obscure subject, Which spins and spins towards the center, Never reaching courage to jump and pronounce "I love thee then thousand times of what I know it to be!" This incomprehensibly divine speechlessness, Dying, but still surging as I drift from madness, Clams me to my next attempt. I remain swaying, Like a chronometer touching him and her On this godless machine, Hung by a string between this place and the next, Away from the imperfections without your presence.

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