The wind is on fire:
Stabbed by the cliffs' edge.
It dies a cold death
In the carob tree's eyes.
The wind seeks barble sanctuary
Erected by the hands of summer.
The carob tree embraces the wind
In its arms, and strangles it
With a chokehold of dew
As a constrictor would coil its prey.
"You who engulfed my children
Leave and die elsewhere
For here the maggots
Have whips of hellfire."
So the carob tree
Let the wind go,
The wind fled to
The near-distant horizon,
Like a nomad without a tent.
When the bright equinox
Welcomes in the summer
The wind will return
To the carob tree:
This time dressed in
Neptune's mantle
And with Ophelia's kiss
On its new lips.
O and the carob tree
Will swoon and drop
Fruits of hieroglyphs as
An ex-voto to the wind.
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