[u]Dia de Sant Jordi [/u]

The hiss of a glass door heralds the evening.
The air is something alive, at least,
Something less stagnant than lamps and carpet.
Scudding around, chasing itself in the April twilight.

[i]Dia de Sant Jordi,[/i]
But this is a night of no stars, the clouds,
A dusky grey orange flanked by silhouettes
Of giant conifers, standing sentinel on the earth.

The scent of new daffodils and marigolds is ladled
Into the air
(Something alive, at least),
And somewhere in fragrant Catalan
[i]I en algún lloc en aromatic català[/i]
The lovers pass roses
[i]Els amants s'entreguen roses[/i]
And hands touch
[i]I les mans toquen[/i]
Wrapped in the night.

Look, it's Midnight.

Taurus Mars Loki Shiva,
In terrible calm,
Descending constellations.

But the air is breathless here,
And uncertain,
Wavering on body heat.

Flagstones white as bone,
Or ivory,
And dull as promises.

Landscape coal-black,
With the richness of a
Nightingale's song.

Pewip, pewip,
Clack churrup-churrup.
Luscinia luscinia.

And then,
Stone and wind and olive-khaki clouds strike out
Glittering for each other,
Frantic pushes across the world,
And as they stretch to touch...

Dawn flushes through the east,
The orb of the night vanishes.
[i]L'orbe de la nit s'esvaeix
Els amants s'entreguen roses,
I les mans toquen.

Dia de Sant Jordi,
Dia de Sant Jordi,[/i]
Allelujah.