Anaximander is Dreaming
A rooster, spy of the light, has taken my head away
and bequeathed it to the river.
A bumble-bee, the stepson of the sun, has stung my shoulder
changing it into dew.
A raven, the charcoal purpose of the fire, has untied my navel
spilling me into the trembling sky.
I was awake.
A trembling body mourned without a shadow.
In the meantime the river has met the sky in the dew.