I have,
somber,
taken the
age
by its feathers
flapping heedlessly
towards
the wasteful
the glass
is clear
with signs
of sorrow;
how to blame
the cathedral
for having
gold angels
in its marble
cross
for
the touch
is not random
but decoding
the material
language,
translating it
to pure
essence
I have,
somberly,
taken the
task
of discovering
the fatal
mistake
of our
lives.
