the silence of the cranes


I




maru delgado




The world’s cycle
breaking up in the law of exile


The illusions
nesting in Adam’s ribs
when the wind has nine lives
and the empires
-unseen-
cry lullabies to the afternoons
before the first revolution


Dust dancing in Eden
the first crane is born
the womb’s name is Eva
- perennial solitude-


The first crane in silence
while eating a forbidden apple








The ages of the world
in the origin of the breed


Perpetuity
the dog chasing its own tail








1

The void’s sorrow

A hole in the shadow
grabs its throat and tries to drown
locked in the glory
of a perfect silence

The maternal water gushes
                 it’s read in the sacred scriptures
when the palace of these birds
learns how to reinvent a mourning winter
only knowing to recognize
the sun at noon

An oasis of masks
living in the shores of sleep
in virgin villages
that still burn under the ropes
of silence’s daughter
they drown in the wind
as fragments of something
that had been deeply loved
in secret

In the hidden tunnels
damped walls prepared bonfires
for the hour of love
                            … and that’s how we used to go
                            devouring shadows
with sleepless smiles embraced to the image
of the eternal pond
always invisible
to the eyes of time

It’s seen
The light crashing –rebel-
against the dawn’s back
where all the lizards
go
crawling among leaves
                             among hours
in love with the triangular time

The afternoons open
as rusty sorrows
in the memory of the bowels

And no one, not even emptiness itself
dares to stop the emptiness









2

The confession of neurosis

Genesis in the basement
between a name on a dead language
and a mythological being
while the fog oscillates

Today, the elven sword
is owed
in the language of Cain’s parents
while a prayer is born in the ages of snails

                                       The sky has a sad twin
                                       (it’s been said)

At the knees of a king
hungry eels overflow
the nude encounter of forbidden birds
circulating the vestige of rancor
on the skulls now tuned to crumbs
and the skin
now just clay and sandstone

And yet again
death itself in the mirror
a cold night in June
and a frozen newborn continent

All this
in the silence of those
who were shut against nature


@casadecuervos

more by maru delgado

the floating world three

the dock

paleta de asfalto