Our secret histories
are sailing upstream
in seas of disaster

The anthems for our culture
are not exceed the limits
of the harbour
breathes hard
like certain suspicions
of modern poetry
without metre and future.

The flashes from our stars
cannot be conducted like a duet
as they only reflect
tuneless bodies
of palaeontological orchestras.

The return to holy landscapes
is a ring through the nose
like a bell hung
in a belfry
as a messenger of doom.