if I didn’t wake up
so calmly disintegrating myself sometimes
up to the curve
of imponderable corruption of the vigil
every time
you could persist in your faith to insist
by all means that I had experienced a death almost
perfect like in the cosmogonist
poem “Enuma Elish”:

“in the times when none of the Gods
was embodied, / (when) they had not (yet)
by their names been called / their destinies/
not yet decided ,/ (in all this time) /
the Gods had been created inside of them”

hardly acquainted
in our passing deaths we should advance & move
forward in the mythical proboscides of the day –
just in order to return
to the generous everyday life as
good enemies in the heavy weight category
and with one more thoughtful body