Summer 2014 • Vol. XXXVI No. 3 Poetry |

Lul de Faltenin

From the French   —to Louis de Gonzague Frick Sirens I've slid toward your grottos You stuck your tongues out at the sea Dancing before its horses You fluttered your angel wings And I listened to your rival choirs A weapon o my restless head I wave a withered branch To push back the warm breath Of your terrible mute mouths Exhaling into my cries There lies the marvel What are you worth against its shine Blood spurts from my wounds At my appearance and I confess The murder of my double pride If the oarsmen skim across the waves Far from the lips they row Thousands of charmed animals Sniff out the trail Toward my beloved wounds Their eyes bestial stars Light up my compassion But I am already As wise as the constellations Night I alone shine on you Sirens finally I descend Into an avid grotto I love Your eyes The steps are slippery Far off you are dwarves now You attract no other traveler In the alert and cunning sea I have seen the forests green

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From the French   —to Louis de Gonzague Frick Sirens I've slid toward your grottos You stuck your tongues out at the sea Dancing before its horses You fluttered your […]

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