My memories are shattered into shades,
but the painful blur never fades.
As he was coming, behind him the horizon
was as far as eyes could see only two blue stripes on
the petrified time’s dome, two blue nails rasping it.
That was all one could see.
As he tore a piece out of the Moon,
and stuffed the pellett with blue blood soon…
Instead of a Red Moon it became blue,
shining through blood like glue.
Blue stripes on the black,
stars on the rimless sky’s back:
gouts whirling on a white disk, the light brisk.
The wingbroken Moon-swallow was a strained hollow,
its blue-stuffed pouch full of blue sleet.
The Sun’s eye splashed onto my lap,
the Moon’s lentil rolled into my hand.
The squealing silence was the new order…
Then as cold dust the silence sprinkled on us,
as he went, the mountain went in front of him like a monster,
everything else, as far as eyes could see, was a thorn-brisket slaughter.
Everything else was blue.
On the hatchet a frozen blue, my blood-dew.
(The fog keeps quiet inside me.)