Mother told him to tend the stars
a few seconds before she died
And it was in another shadowed dream,
another insane recognition,
that his mind became the evening’s green child.
And now, when midnight silence
eats through his splendid highways and empires,
when those angels of epiphany strike hard at the bereft aurorae,
he goes to the river.
The river knows everything….
Meanwhile, crosses, railroads and orchids keep on crawling towards the weary jawbones of the luminous inheritance….
And the moon keeps on weaving through a thousand looms of cold madness like this