Nightmare & miracle in the dream of the archangle

Then I saw you descending stairways down, toward the forest of Oceana:

air.


Then I saw you running evanescent among the trees, homestall of the winged bull:

fire.


And you could be anything you wanted to: topaz, or mirror, or your own eyes:

steel.


There in the jardín, in the flames that don't warm: 

submarine nylon.


A mental frequency or modulat kept your pressurized forest warm and safe
like the cellars of Madrid in winter:

coffee.


And you could be anything there: orgasm or myself:

milk.


And penis or land-escape, and seraph or dominatrix
and the mandrake root:

chicory.


Then I saw you under this sol, the horloge [] then a 1975's day started growing, white and tall in the Bardahl of the morning.

Ironnails.