...She's got tired of this Sun, too: she comes to wet her feet to the Moon...
When she's tired of seeing her reflex
On the mirror of her sex]
And love...because she's so clear that already...
already she's no-one...
She climbs up to the leaves of the tree
Whose branches reach the Throne of Lucifer, Lord of metals]
...And then she falls to the Sea, bathed of stars and dead fears.
And then those stars rain down from the cosmic theatre
Like the souls of the ones who'll born rain in the night sky.
She summoned the name of Gabriel, angel of the males and the war
He, who's always dressed in white wool and eyes like bread
And he was herald of the one who once loved
her]
And the words of the terraqueous lover were:
"I was waiting for you
While the morning lasted
And as the light was our souls
And as I cried my inner ghouls
And while the morning was
True]"
And saying this, the angel talked by himself at last:
"...Oh, enough thinking was, and was: someone suffers there...but woman; something in the gardens still calls you relentlessly; in the gardens of yourself.
One day is today; and all days are at once: blessed be this wind: can you feel it?
Can you feel this divine wind, violet like deaf tapirs..?
If you don't let yourself go with it now; if you don't abandon yourself to its simple delight just today; you will never do it.
Don't let your love turn into an old medal that's forgotten on a shelf."
...And as the angel of the living ones said this, he disappeared flying toward the East, like the Eagle of Thunder, and, oh horror..! The Sun escaped on reverse on its path in front of him...
I guess she's got tired of this Sun, too; so, some nights, she comes to bath her feet to the Moon...
.
