Barely heard
A moan drifts up
From a lower world
The scent of wet ice
Either a cattle farm
Great mundane pleas from moonlit vats
Of mud
Some stirring of the blood
Old alpine pang
Or a crevice wail
Broken leg song
Lichen undernail
A life of skin
A blue so dark he will go blind
A moan drifts up
Bile on the breath of spring
A silent swiss funicular
On unlit rails
Passes through dense wood smoothly
Crosses the meadow
And finds me
Through a gap between the molding
And the pane

INVIA LE CORREZIONI