Confined within my keeper’s will.
I’m under his password.
He is my darling warlock.
His torrid eyes are black as coals.
His shadow touches the ninth step on a stairway.
And in his chest I hear the thunder rumble.
Listen to his incantations.
They are the music, the arms, and the footsteps.
Voice of the wind has conjugated us far above and beyond shreds of clouds.
The ocean ravenously drinks passion from wells at night,
From the eyes of firmament, just as burning and obscure as my keeper’s eyes.
When the moon sighs, the horizon strokes the abyss, and the ocean makes a move.
When lightning strikes, a thousand spines arch in a storm.
And so they whisper, stars and tides.
And so they talk, wings of a bee and a heart of a flower.
Don’t know what they say precisely, but there is always honey after.
I’ve noticed too there is nothing silent about a face turned to the shore and a handkerchief trembling in the mist.
I’m under his spell.
My eyes lose vision but my hearing sharpens.
And I just can hear that everything is in lucid prayer, and everything is in vivid conversation.
– Inhale, baby. Say the password. Now exhale. Inhale again.
– Hush, my darling… Please let me hear what the surf whispers out there…