Looking at the self in the lake glassed mirror
the icy image reflects your face,
I sense your strange, transient embodiment, which lately never goes away;
I touch my hair with your hands,
and I whisper, sometimes, even sigh some senseless words
echoing in me the voice of inevitable premonition.
Now, when you are here,
listen to the growling windstorm of a sleepless night
while we stand ecstatic and breathless before each other
like hypnotized lovers surrendered to celestial tunes of a vast forest hanging mural love song.
Follow me down the moonlight path
and free for us light caught in the maze of shadow-game between swaying tall pines.
Our dream roars through the woods awake while we follow the Seraphim’s serpent starry path–
Fly, fly, in the dance of this night’s blazing angel wing covered with million starry eyes.
Everybody can see us now, no one can stop us, I feel
The valley of emotions swarm,
ticking heart palpation again,
the earthpulse loses its rhythm,
no, we are not lost in the forest, I hear great waters rising on the horizon
and glossing whisper of the endless lake
that dreams for us this jointly presence,
but our dawn bodies will be washed on the opposite sides,
and, I know,
we’ll let go of future plans.
While we still hold on the last opiate, touchy, velvety darkness,
suddenly, the infernal fire inflames the sky;
hit by the laser moon beam directly in the heart
I see the leading Seraph burning wings falling from the sky,
I hear broken and crushing, wavy melodies of a ghostly presence pouring
over the poem like a big ink spill
filling with sorrow the infinite void of a forever vanishing self.
“We have made you a creature neither of heaven nor of earth, neither mortal nor immortal, in order that you may, as the free and proud shaper of your own being, fashion yourself in the form you may prefer.” Giovanni Picco della Mirandola, Oration of the Dignity of Man
Edward Steichen, The Pond-Moonlight