I prostrate myself with joy anew,
Sparkling zeal and ardor true,
To the warmth of a dawn
That ignites the dreams I’ve drawn;
Were it but an obstacle
That needs but a single leap,
The shoes of clay
I still wear today
Bind me to the dirt so deep
So I try not, nor delay.

Perchance, I err,
For a single blow suffices
To change fate’s grim devices
And I fade, alas,
In pure white candle wax,
In rivers of warmth displayed
After an hour of vigil’s span
As if it were writ beforehand,
As if it were already lost,
As if it were thy dream’s cost. As always,

I prostrate
With that easy hatred,
Believing myself renewed
Now that I am but fed
On shame, a glance,
One finale glance
And I lie, overwrought,
Upon yet another sheet
Where still I live thee.

Marco Delrio

Another Sheet

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