The Metamorphosis of Lovers
Robert Marteau

On all sides the night cracks & splinters
And lovers find themselves covered in feathers
With grains of salt between the fingers.

Lovers are thirsty in their drained beds
For all the moisture has left for the sea
And in the window the roosters are pouting,
Pecking in the glass the last stars.

Lovers who carry white plumes and knives
Bleed these cocks in an earthenware bowl
Spead the blood that they may sleep,
Sleep in the chalk circle your arms seal.