"Poem to be Said in the Midst of a Great Silence"
Can it be they are going to kill?
Will they pierce the heart with a huge knife?
And with the sharpest scalpel empty the eyes?
And with the steeliest chisel break the skull?
And with the most hammer of hammers crush the bones?
Can it be that on the exotic table
–table of sex, table of love–
my love, you and I,
being startled one night
your heart spoke
when you were under my blood?
Can it be the same as it was
when it was an oath, and even more so,
your work, your word bled,
soaked by the soft perfume of kisses,
so as not to deny, to be one indivisible?
And can it be so blindly believed,
so blindly, that all the suns go dark forever
while the soul travels in darkness?
Can it be there never was a soul despite the waves of music
Soul that never was though you might be for an instant?
Remember that instant when you were a soul and adored
and then your own monster came suddenly
to take you to the place where being you were?
Can it be that after you are no longer,
when not being is merely a mound of dried out kisses,
you will be by not being, instead of being love?
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