Friday, June 1, 2012

Black cypress

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.