We paused by the spirits’ gleam,
‘Neath the neon’s awkward shroud,
‘Midst the hues of a heaven’s scheme
That veils the colors proud.

Beyond, a hound, half asleep,
Soiled, dissonant and grim,
‘Mongst shards of crystal deep,
Sands and sieves within.

And down the bridge we tread,
Born of glue and chances,
Of sword-bearers and pests;
Yet it stands and grants.

To shadows. We were naught
For more than a fleet’n’ greet,
For already thoughts were wrought
With doubt’s absence complete.

And then, beneath the sea,
Thou did say ‘twas supreme,
Did hope be years o’ this it,
Without a word, without a dream.

Marco Delrio

Without a Word

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