Today I
only know
That I have
failed to write my name
on the bark
of the black cypress,
in the graveyard
with the fallen leaves,
Nor did I
eat the fruit
Of sweetest
life endeavours.
Many a time
a spark of genius
Has crossed
the sky and died away
In a walk
between my fingers.
All I had
to do was lift my hands
And plunge
my face into the vault of heaven.
Is this
what I was told the day
When I ate
my piece of knowledge?
Has
anybody, ever, listened
To the song
of the fallen goldfinch?
I know some
day his singing will stop
But he’ll
live in the moss and the bossoms,
Like me in
the black cypress
Fed of a
million tears of joy.
