crystals of the early dawn

from a cross flash, of the shepherds star
in the luminous parchments, high skies
burning diamonds from a reef of starlings
how many, how many trees must bow

rippled from the sway , of gusts
branches from the wingspread , blue bleached black
aridness that tremble to residues of immortality
shaking the fortified treehouse and forte

hanging by the darkness, thread to morn
springs to rocks,fogs of stone slithers
not more like when these arrived , on hawthorns
atop the flowers- glossaries diocese to constellations

but that was then, across the grass
natures excrement element; sand burns
solitary silence, rivers in nativity asleep
bridled, glistening as a heart of glass

the shambled light of the gloss, pulsing
birds of sea, slapping over calm waters
places by the hearth, and the morning star
with the breeze of junipers cooling

water manes of carmine, wounded illuminated
daybreak, for astronomy to lace up silence
stumbling,sound of crickets, among the rocks
hiding, as if he were half-man half-horse

in the ancient seas,there are some seamen
their intimate mouth is cold
it burns them ,the night they lived, before:
day excuses the sun from their gaze