Anasphere: le Torse Antique

             kami naraba
        yurara-sarara-to
             ori-tamae!*

I

Among the grains how small you were
Dry in the desert of your image

You did not hear the cries of love as you passed
Down the street, you did not see
The spittle
Fly nor the beads of blood on the axe blade

The naked masked woman
Twice she swung it & once more & high
By its long handle


II

Here we are travelling from place to place

Here I keep you hidden
Held by a great lightness
Body & voice if I could set you free
...