Fossil
your hair is soft
white as dead grass
whispering, full of the eyes of old women
full of sighs
and hissing, the sea of your voice, it's long
skinny arm
you wait by the church doors, all fringe
and rags, your hands are beggars
they cry from the steps
as I pass.
left
like a treasure on a mountain, a dagger
honed in wind
high above the plain, you
tilt, as
one
by one, the clouds
rise from the sea
and cross
over Trapani...
the wind flicks a tongue in the eucalyptus
incestuous
incestuous
the fan glitters the hill
hooded mummer, wound
in fog
clasped like a lover in his secret flesh
slowly your mind
spins
out of the gray rock
I follow you through a maze...
you draw me like the thought of my own death.
your hair is soft
white as dead grass
whispering, full of the eyes of old women
and hissing, the sea of your voice, it's long
skinny arm
and rags, your hands are beggars
they cry from the steps
as I pass.
like a treasure on a mountain, a dagger
honed in wind
high above the plain, you
tilt, as
by one, the clouds
rise from the sea
and cross
over Trapani...
incestuous
incestuous
the fan glitters the hill
in fog
clasped like a lover in his secret flesh
spins
out of the gray rock
I follow you through a maze...
you draw me like the thought of my own death.
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