Germinate, O my rose.
Bathe in dew of the watering trough
That stills a sunrises thirst.
Throne upon the mound of earth
At the center of my garden.
Clothe the dancing winds in perfume.
Your sprouting is sundial to the seed
That in thunder broke my chains.
And waters me a rich kingdom. My dove.
My loving spouse has slept in river of eternal sleep
Thus with the darkening clouds I’m clothed.
In the cleaving of a lemon each tongue tastes but half
But in eternal sleep a whole. Bathed by the river of sleep.
The police wiped my tears, said they did not find the sleeping body
But by the chains of the servant the lines of their witchcraft met.
For the wallet and blood smears of my other half cried out from the grave.
The ingratitude of the heart. Such an evil servant
In form the butterfly, yet in spirit a slice of darkness.
Goodbye my beloved husband. Sleep in peace.
My rose, throne in scarlet
And beautify the temple from which sprang my wings
Thus soar I in freedoms winds.
The judge was lenient, the lawyer a slice of ice
To a tongue that thirsts. “He left no ascendants
Nor descendants. Thus you are the sole heir.”
Music to the ears of Martha. In perfume of my rose.
Underneath the incense of scarlet
That is throne on this mound of earth
Sleeps his decomposing body in river of sleep.
Sleep in peace.