Sylvia Sharpentier

I have a perpendicular sword in my heart
My bashful confession sticks to my uvula, in-between my teeth
Being understood I dread, the communion of souls
I recoil cowardly from the projection on a winding heath
Floaded is this shoal with devils all agog

I planted a fake bouquet by a tree.
At which hour rain knocks the lifeless beauty brooding 
Ov'r the sighs of thirsty roots

The reeds are dancing like hanging lanterns on a curvy day
Tweed is the jacket I bought on my pay day
Mist and frost flaming across the ripe field;
Berries are plumper, the skies are higher
I am a feeling reed under the November sunlight

O, mother, will you comfort my fictitious spirit?
Golden dust falls through the fingers of the wind,
Brandishing like a child, this disinherited magic
Thousands years of rectitude hover through the night
I have a perpendicular sword in my heart