Sense edges

Seeking a shred of purpose
to pass the remaining time
or play with dark spots
and flashes of thunder
and dreams of vespers?
Tenderly rummaging through memories of bones
and promises of fragile enchantments.

Who awaits us in the elder's shadow?
Who awaits us, winged spirits with swollen faces
after we have consumed the last refuge
of weary scribblers?
Once upon a time there was a wise seeker of sincere glances,
who eavesdropped on the wind, trail of voices of
sleepless bankers and spied the metal-coloured auroras,
to unearth the treasures of the caravans
of eager young people, never attentive
to the fate of the objects of memory.
He found no joy, but fell asleep
on the bankers' doorstep
with the complicit gaze of the young