THE SWEET RELIQUARIES

A time ago, an already forgotten soul belonged to me…
It was nurtured by my shadow… Whenever I wished,
The golden fan of its laughter would open,

Or its cry would bleed another current;

A soul that I made flow, like long locks
Spilled upon my hands… Flower of fire and wax,
It died from a sadness of mine… So flexible it was,

So faithful, that at times I doubt if it ever could have been...