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Inside the Whale
On the long train, swallowing your reflection,
we travel in the dark, a woman in the landscape asks a question,
her horizon opening and closing
with no way to cross. Our hands curl for this unreachable drama,
this journey to freedom,
but you have it wrong and I have enough only to fly inside this whale.
Our castle stands at the death of one view
to clarify another, here we crown ourselves with stone,
raise candles to the surviving frescoes,
the faces and olive leaves, the isolated loaves.
It’s the blue room that disturbs you,
it’s over and over the parent you can’t escape, the walls of an old conquest
that has no flag but the rag in your head
that waves its fashion for freedom, so old hat even in your absurd revolution.
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