The white stone

                THE WHITE STONE

                "I will give him a white stone, and on the stone
                a new name written, which no one knows
                except the one who receives it."
                (Revelation 2:17)

A quiet echo fades in the space of bygone centuries...
It drifts with the mist into the chasms of those ghostly cliffs,

where sand and grass hide the contours of earthly flesh...
where my elbow left its mark in the hot sand.

The same waves, my friend, the same Chronos calls us to the ball.
The choir, obedient to their rhythm, still knows no rest.

Time to gather stones: those that fell like stars into the sea,
sowing storms and squalls of mutual desire.

These black waves, heavy with saltwater,
advance in swells, as in a burdensome, burdensome dream...

Sometimes, in the ebb, the stroke of a star emerges:
the White Stont like you revealed by the wave –  on the seabed.

The White Stone in play: remember the touch of childhood palms?
Before the foreboding of God, before all departed gods.

Whoever hid it, hid adoration in their soul,
like this ingot of the last February snows in their hand.