Minor Song

Dewdrops
on nightingale’s wings,
clear droplets of moon
shaped by illusion.

On the fountain’s marble
the waterspout’s kiss,
dream of humble stars.

The girls in the gardens
all bid me farewell
as I pass. Bells too
bid me farewell
and trees kiss
in the half-light. I
go down the street weeping,
grotesque, no answers,
sad as Cyrano
sad as Don Quixote,
             redeeming
impossible infinites
with the rhythm of clocks.
I see irises dry
touched by my voice
bloodstained by light,
and in my lyric song
I wear the costume
of a grease-painted clown.
Beautiful marvellous love
hides under a spider. The sun
like another spider hides me
beneath its golden legs. I shan’t
find happiness,
I’m like Love
whose arrows are tears, 
whose quiver the heart.

I’ll give everything to others 
and weep my passion 
like the child abandoned 
in a story crossed out.