Now I'm on the edge of the cliff and I will not fly
as the sublime creature shows off in stratospheric bright
the emerald feathers as tentative arms
I see no wings as I hunch
and on the glass water down below
I see no hope, no reflexion of me

The creature exclaims: this is
the power of thunder!, and points
to a muted blue hole in the walls of stone.
But I go back to the silent sound of the city
where all the faces are inventory lined paper
and people blindly walk, in relief, in blood.
Silence grows as lips are silenced, sealed and melted
and the light turns into quicksand
this we know without conscience
as we stand at the gates of thunder

And the creature throws us a nude compact god of fire
and laughs histerically

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