The bell tower
the pale secrets
There
right
planted in the ground
by divine will,
nailed to the sky
a demon
with emotions
defeats
and the dark crumbs
stands:
signal-to-god
a bell tower
of black stone.
The shadow of the night
is a project of looks,
a river that blurs
the pale secrets and the reflections
of a giant landscape,
geometric
alive.
A piece of heaven
A mirror of red distress,
A drawing of clouds and rosaries,
Dark eyes filled of afternoon.
-It's eight in the evening-
repeats the sound, insistent,
of the bells.
Prayer:
Cotton-mass
dress for charity,
gold necklace .-
(with devotion,
please
with devotion ...)
And the bells ring out:
-Have mercy on us.
-Have mercy on us
and on others.
Onothers too, if you have
more mercy, Lord.
"Forgive they too, Lord".
-Word of God.
-We ask
Lord.
desperate moments
of old memory
hammer and return:
- Where are
bells?
- Where are rosaries?
- Where are the echoes
of the prayers without words?
- Where are the atavistic rumors
of the church
and the smell of old wax
lingering from a light
that was melting?
I do not want,
messes.
I want bells.
Hear the sound, slow
slow
of the bells!
they want so much... so much want they
they want so much... so much want they
they want so much... so much want they
The fog erases the horizon.
The song restores my voice
of the saints and virgins.
The acquitted accompany me.
It is the crop reunion
where the caterpillars slip
It is the mud of the melting windows
and light of the candles
fossilized within me.
I see the horizon falling.
The shadow of the bell tower
takes flight like a bird.
Now it's raining.
It started to rain,
and I take flight, sublime,
soaked in rain
looking, from far,
my bell of stone
that disappears
like a shadow
under the sky
of black rain.