FUNERAL POEM
To Guillaume Apollinaire.
The fancy bird has changed its star
Rig low to the storm of tears
Your coffin with veil
Where the instrument of enchantment departs
In the vegetation of memories
The hours around us make the trips
Goes fast
It goes fast pushed by the sighs
The sea is laden with shipwrecks
And I have upholstered the sea for its passage
This is the
This is this primordial trip without a ticket
The instructive and secret journey
Through the corridors of the wind
The clouds part so I can pass
And the stars light up to show the way
What are you looking for in the pockets of your jacket?
Have you lost the key?
In the midst of this heavenly hum
You find yourself everywhere with the aging hours
The wind is black and there are stalactites in my voice
Tell me Guillaume
Have you lost the key to infinity?
An impatient star will say he's cold
The sharp rain begins to sew the night
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