PEREGRIN, WANDERING HUNTER OF FACES

In the watchtower of fantasy,
in the twinkle of perfume
trembling with harmony:
in the night that flames consume,
when the featherless duck sleeps,
the golden insects annoy,
and fireflies smoulder;
when the striped fairies light up,
when cork butterflies fly
and blonde vampires lisp
or the solid lamp stands out,
in the night of the mothers
with dead eyes and prominent noses;
in the distant watchtower,
by the plains:
the wandering huntsman of faces
watches with diamond eyes
from the sightless heights.