Behind the black olives redianted*
the moon this night
is handing over a bloomed sign.
Why are you going to bed alone
in colorful bed sheets?
Hear! In Syracusae troubadours are singing
in one love,
about that while you burn into,
you burn endlessly.
But you are falling asleep.
A domestic bird, hidden
behind curtains of brocade
and pressed her lips on a golden spider.
A homeless night in the black olives
and a sound of our Beyond.
* ? neologism created by the author expressing that something is shined on by radiance