Let the dance make the hull be subject to decay,
by Michel Galiana
A crucible for words, I shall free the live one.
Who can deny the wind when the oak crashes down?
In flawless crystal are breath and strength caged away.
Spirit of the whirlwind that composes my chest,
I scatter all my hours like grains I would winnow,
Concealing in myself gem and skilful tempo
In which a rising star has both start and recess.
As a spinning spiral engulfing years and miles,
The fiend abducting me I shall, some day, devour-
Theseus oblivious of the hiding monster-.
(In everlasting fields thrive the short-lasting strains)
And I shall find again, once the truce is proclaimed,
My inviolate core that's deserted by time.