I hold in the dawn of my half-light
your swollen light,
your mute eyes spill
and tumble down the slope
of the void.
Solitude is an elusive echo,
a beam laid crosswise between the eyelashes.
No laws of inertia
are able to conceal you,
no atoms to undo you.
If you fall upward,
the zodiac is your body,
arcanum of my misfortune.

Aneta Biursch, Anthology of the Discarded, p. 15