eco para o teu farol (mnemosyne)

Let me fold something white
as a rose to you
longing like me

The paper leaps up
ready for the next slice

I maintain
there is nothing of penance in this
that I'm not just up for anything

What is written will avenge itself
will grow smaller and smaller
a trivial stain in the end to our eyes

the night of the knives
more than small lies

take care of the dreams
white beasts may have:

Trembly impossible longing
lacerated beauty
the kind we see in one another

breath icing-up on its way away
it can just as well be
in this night of tales

- Lene Henningsen

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