Night of Time

In a barn that smells like ancient thoughts,

Time swirls like a cunning fly

Over smokes of yellow candle

And the flicker of its wings,

Like a glowing thread of ice,

Will cut the fragile gristle

of life in pieces.

With naked, ripe shadows

The years are passing.

I scoop up the darkness in handfuls,

I scoop it up and pour it into the sun,

That slumbers sweetly under the table,

Though I have long been acquainted

With the deathly gleam

of the stars in the window.

The harsh hay dries my memory,

And just a doorstep away

The wicked moon beckons,

I can't refuse it...

I'll lift the curtains of my eyelids,

I'll pour the sap of centuries into myself.

And time is swirling as the fly

In the rays stolen from the sun,

Washing away the dust of years

From my weary waiting hands,

And my mind, a spider-like creation

sleeps in a web of enlightenment...