The stained glass to our hill,
An emerald suspended,
The adage for our love.
Paradoxical empty halls,
Thunderous mazes
Where you fervour burgeons,
Where my terror ceases to be.
(Fly through liturgical enchantments.
Uncover the bloody trails.
Seek refuge at the bottom of a well.
Ignore the compass.)
Turn into poetry,
The greatest mutation
Always pries open that one window
Where arrogance dies,
Where alchemy thrives.
Ezquiel Samora
Translated by Leonor Gomes
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