The empty chair stands alone at midnight,

As the blind stars keep all jasmine flowers silent,

Under the darkness a folk song turns on its headlight,

Under the sleeping sky only snow mountains are vigilant.  

Something inexorably remains standing,

Though it is as empty as the meteoritic dream,

When an incarcerated eagle wakens from descending,

His name is erased by a nation’s gathered steam.

But the silent jasmine blossoms in deep space,

As the snowflakes are falling in the vast Nordics,

The forest sits on rocks, knitting a deciduous lace,

To decorate the empty chair and the empty lines of lyrics.

And morning will walk through and open the blue window,

Like a blue ocean on the horizon opened by a volcano.

2010.12