Capitolo 22
You walked with rhythmic feet,
Turned an angle, come down a step.
You bought a paper, it held him/it to analyze the titles,
Smile for a moment to sea-gulls stop in light of the sun,
And it drew deep breaths of air.
Past days, the bright clouds of days. Past nights. It is music
Murmured inside the walls of illuminated windows.
You lifted his/her face to the light and he/she danced.
The ballet dancer garlanded and they gathered in touching models,
You gathered, receded, streamed, advanced.
Its suit was you redden, its slippers were gilded,
Its eyes were blue; and a reddens orchid
Opened his/her gilded heart on his/her breast. . .
You tilted him to the surly languor of lazy music,
You tilted on the arm of his/her partner to remain.
The violins were plotting a silver plot,
The horns were plotting a shiny brede of gold,
It is time you/he/she was taken in a model that shines,
Time, too much elusive to taking. . .
Shades of skin of leaves on her face,--and light of the sun:
You the face turned away him.
Nearer her stirred to an obscurity that crouches
With every footstep and day.
Died that for first you/he/she had thought about her only an instant,
To a great distance, through the night,
Smiled by a window on her, and it slowly followed her/it
From you redden light to turn on.
In his/her dreams, he clearly spoke clear once, while crying,
'I am the assassin death.
I am the person in love that holds his/her appointment
To the doors of I breathe!'
You of rose and it fixed his/her his/her own reflection,
Half that trembles to find there
The ghost dark-dagli eyes, waiting close to her,
Or coming apart back
To placed pale hands on his/her shoulders. . .
Or was this in his/her mind? . . .
You combed him the hair. The light of the sun weakly sparkled
Along the beaches that launch.
It was there a calm in these hair,--
A quiet in these hands?
Death was a dream. You/he/she could not change these eyes,
Extinguishes their light, or you turn this mouth to dust.
You combed him the hair and it sang. You would live forever.
Leaves flew passed its window along a gust. . .