Cursed Be the Day

The beaten hours the hangover

of the day overhead in stains

lingering in the air

from the stars to here

hanging

and you and I and you stepping on the day

that is to say forgetting the memory

that is to say you and me and you

we ourselves

for once

finally

after everything

leaving all that in the air

discharged like stones

in the water

in the intact circle of the night

that reaches no one

like stones

dragged rolling about in a bed

mossy and hollowed out by the centuries.