The Audience, Open (a Lorca ‘translation’)

Every morning, start with

a dead star in your mouth.

See the child in the mirror,

covered in rainbows of grey,

put behind him a nest

of summer silence.

Listen to him, his singing

of the night spring,

he reminds of its dew,

and so then the dead star,

its echoflesh mirage,

your day standing still with brightness.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s