In a black egg I let myself warmed up
of the waiting of flying living in me,
it stays one next to the other, un-detached,
the self next to self.
The feeling of a wing flows to me in my back
the sensation of an eye is looking for an orbit.
Oh, you, big darkness,
you, astonished birth disgusted.
There has put itself on me an idea
and maternal it hatches me.
Now, everything it is it is
warm rounded and firm.
It jumps from me a kind of beak
in every side and suddenly.
It refuses to be an obelisk
the intimate spine, curved.
I break the crust of my skin, burnt,
stuck rightly upon soul,
to remain me unreturned
the first trial of walking.
There jump the black crusts, oho!
Bigger I am and un-flown,
stuck by that where to,
added with a vault round about.
I take out with unreal looks
to the right, to the left, up and down,
bringing to birth brick of animal-kings,
that know how there it beautifully dies.
I stretch a feather of bone, glittered
it touches the concave black.
Suddenly there jump the black crusts
and here am I, again, sweet,
closed into a much bigger egg,
hatched by a bigger idea,
half yolk, half bird,
in a game with in stealing steps.
Big egg! Roared syllabus
in a snatched growth perpetual
without cellar stalactite
seduced.
Concentric eggs, black, broken
each of them in turn and partly.
Baby-bird rejected by flying,
wandering egg after egg,
from the core of the earth
in an echo dilated rhythmically.
“The self” tries from “self” to get out,
the eye from the eye and again
itself of itself it let itself
like a snowing black, heavy.
From an egg into a bigger one
un-flied endlessly you are bring to born.
Only from sleep
there can wake up each one, -
from the crust of life no one,
ever.
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