Not All Of Paradise Is Lost

Weathercocks turn into crystal
They protect the dew with blows from their crests
Then that charming emblem the thunderbolt
Descends on the banner of the ruins
The sand is nothing but a phosphorescent clock
That says midnight
With the arms of a forgotten woman
No place of refuge turning in the countryside
Erected where the heavens advance and retreat
It's here
The harsh blue temples of the villa's head bathe in the
..........................night that traces my images
Hair hair
Evil grows stronger nearby
But what does it want from us

-- Andre Breton