Ecce Homo
Ecce Homo Sits in front of the window Easily submerged In the crumb of old age A cliff shadow tenses Wants to become a bearing fruit He lets it go Clatter of hooves Some nuns from a nearby convent Flock to the Sea Wrapped up In the vine leaves He accompanies them With the silence Of peeling lips The walls beset him Stern foreheads Prominent chins Inquire about conscience Let the leaves of the memory Draw On the tangerine rinds Ecce Homo Yawns Scratches the chest hair Hangs out shrinking space Like carpets running with watercolours In the garden Scrabbling on all fours Up his chilled legs The bell of the matins Sways the dried up boat Of the valley Suddenly blends In a resounding chord Of a china cup Tidily steaming with tea He drops it Watches an old-man-faced floor Being covered With a full octave Of the splinter Moons are reflected in them Shining lemon-like * Written March 22nd, 2002 © on Mar 22 2002 05:44 AM PST 0 • 12
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"Ecce Homo..."