Sudden Swamp

I am afraid I have forgotten you.

The days are full of youth.

A white breeze seizes my window,

through baby-sunshine.

There are no sandy days

the yesterdays are mint-green,

such honey and milk over your sacred fingers.

Surefooted I was a martyr,

properly and well to do,

with eleven sailors

throughout the Seas

(whether at peace or war)

I thought I was there, when I wasn't.

Therein (laying underneath dried leaves)

Across the cliffs

and at the very heart of the bone of the whale.

A voice said:

"Welcome to Ursula's Swamp,

where the todays are mint green

behind a night that beholds doom."

I thought this disease was over,

but the disaster was just beginning to turn white.

I don't want to talk about

the disease that spreads in the air,

not today in SUBTERRANEAN coughs,

between jokes that manage to

bring back

the

memories

that

I

thought

had

fallen

of

The Tree of Agnes.

The view from here is Blurry.

the Swamp quickly turns yellow as I manage to wade

between ooze of darkness.

black oil, slow and doomed.

Like ourselves,

when love is a harvest destined to be

a bad omen

and a black foreshadow

for this farm

for the sons of the sons,

the suns of the suns

that belong to

a vain promise

carried from a voice

to another,

3.000 years in advance.

There, I am hugging air,

despite a lack of field.