Habits

Good evening, your highness.

How is your sleep now in winter?

When leafless walnut trees show their smooth gray bark,

Effectively when all the trees seem mellow and ill

As if something is missing there,

Where the branches grow from their stem nodes.

 

Something is breaking there.

 

Your highness, I am too young, 

Something new still trembles inside me,

Something does not know how to let itself go 

Along the road

And opposes its own nature,

I am like a newborn not accustomed yet to resignation,

I would like to succeed even if the odds are against me,

I would like to control the back-and-forth movement of the sun

As if it were a golden pendulum,

And 

 

Then I awake and I am sorry

That I complained

It is winter time and everything seems to grow

And I am happy.

 

The light breaks into sparkles,

Life is an old habit, your highness,

Rebel sparks fleeing their mother’s eyes,

Like incandescent dust,

A Eucharist from centuries ago.