I will offer my eyes
to the passing by of the nocturnal mare,
I will offer my fever,
the arch of midnight;
because you are in the depths,
because it is your image
that is hidden behind the helmet.
A mortal dance
in the white belly
of the sounds that cross each other.
We are angels taking root
there where nobody dreams.
The house is empty
and the ear.
You can enter galloping
in the kingdom of the kettledrums
and the flutes.
You can die
so that the music
goes on ascending.
