The Vigil of Shadows
Between the creaking of the carriage and the silence of the asphalt,
Where the coffee cools under the gaze of the gas lamp,
We measure existence in teaspoons,
Awaiting the verdict of the pale stars.
Do not seek the answer in the scorching midday,
For light is a mirror that only reflects the shell.
The secret dwells where bone meets emptiness,
In the interval between desire and spasm.
For, in the end, what is a poet if not the NIGHT!
A broken bottle that still retains the perfume of chaos,
The voice that whispers when the world falls silent,
And the shadow that stretches to measure eternity.
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