Over Galicia,
Eagles crumple about the dark cloth
of your brow.
In the bloodstream: winter’s white poem.
Constellations swarm to drugged nimbus above a weary God.
From the ash grove,
Night beckons the innocent.
With a siren voice,
Your unborn child delivers
an empty heaven’s terrible mirror.
A father walks with his young son
Where herds linger in blue and gold.
At evening, a heavy rain of cold stars.
Let the life drain from you —
Let the color run out from the violet hills —
Sleep.
In the remnant of ruined garden,
All has long been accomplished.