quixote facing the knight of the mirrors...
I dreamed of him last night and the cover of the book
was midnight blue;the spine in lilies stamped..
the horizon was midnight
the way it kept raining forever
the way there could be no rest
the clouds were so opaque
even the Isles of the Blessed
even with the Spanish lanterns.
the lure of the towers;
the sweet valedictory hours.
ever the advance guard
Quixote cried so hard.
his tears were gold, como los siglos del oro
and molten, so that his skin cried out
I am the clown of nothing and they
have buried the sun.
his hands falling into petals
the petals falling away.
all that butterfly armour, drifting.
ya no sé como luchar;
how can I live this way
with every socket bruised
myself a bruise on the sky
and the sky, fallen into clay.
the heart like a mantle spread
his fractured shining shadow over the earth.
mary angela douglas 20 april 2020;rev. 14 may 2020
trans. siglos de oro: the centuries of gold, the golden ages;
ya no se como luchar (I don't know how to fight anymore).
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