The Cardelin
No more blood flowed between the branches.
The flesh, black as the night, intertwined with the old and miserable wood at each new dawn.
One morning a small cardelin landed on the skull.
She wished to frighten away the black amber and retake the forgotten beauty of the sleeping rottenness.
She sang that morning, sang again that night. But she could not bear the sunrise, she was found dead in her room at 05:23 am.








