Cain wears the eyes of time
Before they fall into an abyss
Before he's himself made into green
Jadeing green
Touching the hazelnuts.
The green meadows replace the oaks,
The brooks and much older wisdom
That the Apollinear twilight
Finds no longer turning into the winds
Transforming Daphne into herself.
The silent colours predict evohe
With a certain unnatural pretension
That waters down the dust
Thrown upon the searching eye
In caustic midnight tears.
But the green is outstanding
In a certain loving coldness
That betrays the language of rapture
But leaves Noah untouched
In a tent of a different name.
This miraculous injury
Completely lacking in bliss
Awakens the poet to desire
In delaying his death
At the mourning festivals.
The celebration is completed
By the distant indifference
That can no longer understand itself more
Than it can lose its own sight,
With a Theban devise.
And the mountain
Under no man's shade
Dances to the starry flutes
Changing themselves again
Under waters of diluve.
But Cain is dismised
Under the sword of David
Leaving the conquests for others
In the helpless surrounding
Where pens cannot find him.
He does not cry
For the festivities ahead
When his brothers might visit
But for the broken present,
Cain sees with the time.
Which behold! Beheaded
Procrastinates unjointed
Before the unsight of the crack
Whence his amazement breaks forth
And thence his bliss dies.
You become the eternal motif
Behind all my paintings
And perchance less hopeful
Than I would expect
If only Endymion, could be your father again
While no bridges stand in between
I must bear the present
Imprisoned in eternity
To grant you a second of mortality
That could be enough,
Not to prevent your loss.
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