Black Waltz

The oar starts on the gong with the black waltz,
Shadows with blunt stitches sew in the guitars.

Under the threshold my dark house shines in the mirror,
Candlesticks emerge gently from the flaming tips.

Over the Mange decreed: unity of wave and game;
the reason always eludes us with another aim.

I owe the day the market cry and the blue balloon -
Stonehulk and Birdwing seek the location

to the pas de deux of their nights silently turned to me,
Venice, impaled and winged, West and East!

Only mosaics take root and hold fast in the ground,
Pillars dance around the buoys. remains of caricatures and frescoes.

No August was made to see the lion sun,
already at the beginning of summer she let her mane flow.

Think idolatrous Helle, the slap on the bow
and following the keel the foolish masquerade,

A cloth slung to the tip over the drowned floor,
brackish water, love and its smell,

Introduction, then the prelude to silence and nothing after,
Pauses beating oars and the coda from the sea!