Under The Mourning Rays

All those images which
gush as a fountain's
fluid water,
attract to me that vision
so archaic, almost neolitic,
of such a cold stone that
appears in front of me,
looking and smiling at me.

I want to kiss it...
but my stare can only
round it in circles,
when hypnotizes me...
till I kneel down,
when I fall asleep...

I want to caress it
when hypnotizes me...
till I kneel down,
when I fall asleep...

Neither escape nor awake me
from this kind scorn.
Don't suck this sedating
laudanum that Morpheus injects
into my veins.

Let me only embrace that
cold frost skin and cover me
with this boreal sunrise dew.

Until my soul vanishes evaporated
with the water,
under the morning rays...