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Let the music run through
You will not die
Falling on the ground
Like some magpie
Shot in the fury
Of a huntsman's bloodlust.
She walks in snow
Ink drop against paper's
Virgin secret heart.
Night's ultramarine breasts
Are crossing the sky
And her silver dancer's jewels.
The scent of ice
Is enough to intoxicate
The soul of a poet.
Fall down, see the gods
Passing in the evening clouds
And in the ink stain
Against paper's virgin heart.
Fall down, let the music
Pass through, you will not die
Like some lover on his cross.
Taste the blueness
Of Night's breasts at your lips.
Fondle her silver dancer's jewels
And dream of the magpie's
Holy death, the huntsman's lusts.
It is only music and a dream.
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