|From the book The Wild Rose|
|Legends and Fantasies|
(1976 - 1978)
|Somewhere in the corner of a neglected illness |
one can observe, holding back the tears,
how the gold, in-love ball
casts light which will not disappear.
“I love you.” I say. But he goes past
with an invaluable face,
tense as hearing
with an unwell step, keeping its spirits up.
I love you as before on my bended knees,
I love your solitary road.
It buzzes within and it is fire in the logs,
and it leads me to fall asleep.
It raises eyes – they’re bright aren’t they?
and the ball, flying within,
pouring into the streetlamps
strikes a golden needle into the ganglion.