Hour of Stars... (translation)

The round silence of night,
one note on the stave
of the infinite.


Ripe with lost poems,
I step naked into the street.
the blackness riled
by the singing of crickets:
sound
that dead
will-o'-the wisp,
that musical light
perceived
by the spirit.
A thousand butterfly skeletons
sleep within my walls.


A wild crowd of young breezes
over the river.