Moon-Brow

Sated with love, time sets out on the path of paradise. — The cat clips its sharp claws, licks the mouse. — Sated with love, time scatters the seeds of wheat on forgotten lands. Sated with love, time its diamonds, small and large, it sets on the brow of the darknesses; and passes on, without repeating the furnaces that burn humans, without repeating the machines that devour humans. And passes on, with no return to the past. Time sets out on another path, without separation, at the summit, with no return to the time of hell, sated with love, with no return, with no return to the time of lonelinesses. There is no way but to draw away — clawing — from the black silence. There is no way but to call each other’s name. But to reach each other. But to drink, to drink from the spring of each other’s bodies. Come! There is no way but to become naked, to join. But to drown, to drown in each other’s burning caresses. But the trembling of lips on lips. There is no way but the rain of tears falling on each other’s naked breast; far from the rubble, in the paradise of each other’s arms, and to gaze — sated with love — at the shimmering of the new moon on each other’s brow, naked, at the summit, in the middle of the wheatfield...