Charch

The open wounds of angels
Strike dew on the thorn.
In the thunder of their whispers
Slaves of ash arise.

Without delivery from the flame
Horizons revolve
On the mists they crave,
The embers calling;
Naked signals of suffocated hours.

Kissing the sea that sighs
In memory—in memory only—
Of the air that once was free
Stilled in the ghosts of sails
That guide to eternal twilight
Where wait the shades
That warned of the wave’s caress.

That sunset in their gaze
As the words yearn to appeal
To he who is born
To the curse of choice.

I will meet you there
In the shroud I have built—
With a new sun in my eyes
And our good-byes shall echo
In the poison
Of new fading lips.