THE AURORA OF QUARTZ

A breath after a sigh,

I sink still lower.

Imagination plumbs

the precipices of time.

Will I never redeem myself

from this reality

or perhaps illusion?

Now that I think of it again,

I already hear the creaking clangor

of eternal chains.

The future becomes more and more cramped.

Existence seems to defile itself

among the recesses of the heart.

From the balcony

that looks toward the Creation,

among the iridescent,

fragile organza

of the twilight

plushy gliding by,

I venture into the doodles

of an arabesque of filigree,

colorful, liquid,

hovering toward the stars.

Utopias dance there,

punctuated by alien prosody.

They take the thrust toward exotic,

unknown worlds.

I surrender myself to the sweetness

of the evening aura

that inlays corals

among the plexuses of the soul.

I am a lion without a savannah.

You, my love,

you make my dreams pulsate,

among the evanescent holograms,

of ice,

of flame,

of silence.

Even this night,

fleeting, endless,

has glissaded away.

The lark trills,

the quartz aurora smiles,

glowing like a rose,

again, it sprouts.