The Strand Settings: 3. Dark Harbor XXXV
Anders Hillborg / Mark Strand
The sickness, the sickness of angels is nothing new
I have seen them crawling like bees
Flightless, chewing their tongues, not singing
Down, down, down by the bus terminal, hanging out
Showing their legs, hiding their wings
Carrying on for their brief term on earth
No longer smiling; asleep, asleep in the shade of each other
They drift into the arms of strangers who step
Into their light, which is the mascara of Eden
Offering more than invisible love
Intangible comforts, offering the taste
The pure erotic glory of death without echoes
The feeling of kisses blown out of heaven
Melting the moment they land