Dan Enache Poet Free verse

The Mercury Tree

The Mercury Tree

Between dream and ashes, the moon sheds its old skin,
Under my temples lanterns grow like blue wounds,
And time, a faceless child, calls out through the cold walls,
I walk through myself as through a strange palace of mercury.

In memory's attic, moths dig their tunnels,
And every silence searches for a name inside me,
A god with eyes of ash throws the windows wide open,
And my shadows pour onto my tongue, like sick honey.

Beneath the city's skin sleeps a violet horse, starving,
It bites into the stars, leaving stations and mirrors in our blood,
We are born seven times from the first, foreign light,
And we die back, like a mute song forgotten in water.

Then the white garden of nerves rises out of sleep,
The silent trees exchange their roots with one another,
And the hand of fate stitches us into cold light,
And every wound becomes a threshold of smoke toward us.

Morning finds us with eyes of salt and heavy sleep,
And we carry, in silence, a nameless bird,
When the extinguished light returns to us from the depths,
And the secret, like a raspberry, cracks in memory's ember.

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