Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Every crypt holds
A ceremonial silence;
its murmur casts off shadows.
The incision of time falls
beneath the shroud.
Its stillness
opens a fissure
toward another substance.
There, the earth is cast aside
to open a new marrow
to the underworld.
Day and night resemble the sky;
it is a lunar breath
that releases the white flower.
Enshrouded in a monolithic
sarcophagus,
the Red Queen
transforms her body
into a skull,
satiates her darkness,
her vertigo,
before bliss floods the manifested form
and plucks deep the trembling
thread of a full star.
Night unfolds
into the chimera that empties
its initial detachment.
The body is a briny sun
before sinking into
the mortuary chamber.
Seven days of waiting before opening the enclosure,
between twilight and dawn,
between the past and time.
The jaguar returns to the warriors;
within you it struggles,
within you it triumphs,
Lady of precise time,
of full moons;
it crosses, devouring the retinue,
deepest beneath the earth
at the bountiful threshold
of destinies undone.
No flower opens
before taking flight.
The breath draws near and pauses
to hear the message
from light to the divine,
from darkness to the souls.
It is a long and winding path
to the underworld.
The queen goes accompanied
by the woman and the child,
facing the golden eye—
the divine.
Beneath the left hand, another mask.
Red gold, furtive flight,
placeless marrow, the void of space,
the enigma of time,
a star shivering with oblivion
within the rigorous idea of farewell.
Ascent and descent
unleash the lunar clamor
that stirs a truce
along the line that names itself and dies.
Curved time ignites the horizon,
opens the infinity inherent to the signs.
The faint trace of the shadow lights up,
as does the buttress taking shape
in the stone.
Obsidian, jade,
and sacred amethyst part the temple’s base
in the form of fertile blood
midway through the ascent.
The shadow grows over dust,
eyes are lost in dry earth,
night embraces the bed.
They are island bones
recovering memory.
You enter the depths
with skin red as cinnabar.
The sun opens for you
its long interval of silence,
the light its abyss,
the shadow glimpses its perpetual intoxication.
Sacred black air within the precinct.
For you are the dreams of all the women
around the temple and upon the myth.
