The Days Of The After And Behind

I was walking in the dust

Through the half-closed spaces

Incrustations of mud and dew

Resins dripped in the stone.

I discerned a man, alone,

Frightened eyes, red of pain.

I was walking in the pale wintry sun

Through the substrates of the wind

Mosaics of clouds like raging herds.

I discerned a crow, fierce, scanning the horizon…

Vitreous eyes… and silver tears…

Notes of a new pentagram,

White pages ready to shelter obscure mysteries.

I was walking in the dust

Through the half-closed spaces

Incrustations of mud and dew

Resins dripped in the stone.

I discerned a man, alone,

Frightened eyes, red of pain.

These are the days of the after and behind,

The days of the present, that rolls by slow and full.

I was walking in the dust

Through the half-closed spaces

Mosaics of clouds like raging herds.

I was walking in the dust

Through the half-closed spaces

Vitreous eyes and silver tears.