It is here that lies your beauty
do not testify to me anymore
of dandelions and daffodils
of butterflies and bees
do not sing like crows
beyond the dispersion of sight
then gather
in cold bare trees
sick with
discord
dislike
misfeasance.
The reward for
transgressions
destroys the cache
of elegance
of magnificence
of splendor
do not pour out sadness
breathless
from your panting chest
that conclave of mute
vague and sad dreams
do not yearn
for lovable things
this
fleeing from you
your illusion
of avoiding you.
Then speak of
twisting paths
covered in weeds
and coarse brush
and rotten moss
singing soft melancholies
in indifferent airs
spread
your breathless tributes
beg this soul
to yearn for painful desire
for tones of sustenance
those colors
those images
those portraits
of secret truth
lying in wait
for the impact
of despair
discouragement
anguish.
It is here that lies your beauty
your truth
and your essence
still not fierce
the abyss to
be conquered
is besieged
is occupied
by helpless sages
eager to know
what chance your hopes had
to cast dreams
and illusions
and secrets
undetected
in darkened pools
of admiration.