once my cries would have shattered
the moon's windowpanes.  once
when you set the slope of your back
against me, the alphabet crumbled--
i didn't dare to cross the borders
of my lamp's light

for the longest time.

spring came back then and magnolias
floated their soft flowers
onto a garbage dump.
i was half-in, half-out of a dream.
in the long fingers of the wind,
i could hear nothing.  Nothing at all.

the sky sculpted a soundless vault like a sepulcher.

poetry was like the cries
of a mountain climber
tumbling into an abyss
filling up a concert hall
with everything unsaid crossing
the bridge of a violin.

from the horizon where fossils slept,

the sun rose, breaking the cycle of sleep.
i did not dream any more.
sounds like particles of light came
from an unknown distance. But i could
no longer hear them.

this was the sadness before the birth of the word "sadness"
shining in the space between suffering and relief
like a glittering necklace.

now i remember.
now i dream everything