I have been mourning you for days
I have been mourning to the moon
You would have waited for me if you knew I was mourning.
Such a beauty could not last upon the earth
but a star remain alive in its long flying light.
Beauty hurts and heals.
And its surface can be rougher than a stone when above the abyss.
Pale body and dark soul in the mist
then my heart seem to stop for the glory of Infinity.
You could have waited for me over the creek.
I forgot the cruel world and its beasts
I flew light and everywhere, rose high and looked for you
but your face seemed to fade in the mist among the black and white
like horses in the field of rice and sand, near the river.
The sound hurts and the poets are all dead.
It means we can rest now, my dearest love.
We can see the ocean and walk over the fields
of flowers, green leaves and dead bodies of poets.
Poets fallen, feathers or stones taken by gods from the hills.
You could have waited, how could you be so impatient
now they’ll know you were here when you’re gone.
And I will stay on the train station looking to the lines
and crying for your black hair in the wind that’s gone
Everything gone to the hole of time, through the eye of forgetting
but desperately I cannot forget in the early morning
the prayers your hair sent to the tiny gods of thunderstorms.
We shared ours hands on the creek
and we wore clothes made of plants and shells.
It hurts so much I cannot write anymore
I would vomit my soul if I had one.
It hurts, Nicholas, and you thought I didn’t know
what love was, how it feels to be constantly in pain.
I wish you had waited on the river.
For the first time I know of loss
but I’m going after you
wherever you are I will find you and we shall laugh.
I promise I won’t stay and watch your pictures.
I have already died many times watching the river take shadows away.
