Secondary game

by Ion Barbu

From time, derived the depth of this calm crest,
Entered through mirror in azure redemption,
Cutting on the drowning of rustic herds
Into the water’s groups, a secondary game, more pure.

Latent nadir! The poet rises the summation
Of raveled harps that you lose in reverse flight
And exhausts in song: hidden, just like when the sea
Is walking the medusas under the green bells.

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