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Safe in their Alabaster Chambers—
Untouched my Morning
And untouched by Noon—
Sleep the meek members of the Resurrection—
Rafter of satin,
And Roof of stone.

Light laughs the breeze
In her Castle above them—
Babbles the Bee in a stolid Ear,
Pipe the Sweet Birds in ignorant cadence—
Ah, what sagacity perished here!

version of 1859


Safe in their Alabaster Chambers—
Untouched by Morning—
And untouched by Noon—
Lie the meek members of the Resurrection—
Rafter of Satin—and Roof of Stone!

Grand go the Years—in the Crescent—above them—
Worlds scoop their Arcs—
And Firmaments—row—
Diadems—drop—and Doges—surrender—
Soundless as dots—on a Disc of Snow—

version of 1861

Unlike the missing piece
on a puzzle;
an incomplete work of art,

the unfinished
written poem,
and the scribbles
along the walls.

A blank canvas
caught by the eye
could give
the greatest lesson
of them all...


Emptiness isn't worst
after all.

I live in Sweden
But I was born and raised in France
From parents who came from Haiti
Which is a former colony of France
Where slaves were brought from Benin
(To feed the greed of French monarchs)
I speak French, English, Swedish, and can understand creole
I feel in French, think in English, listen in creole and live in Swedish
I love Florence, I am forever bound to Paris and have international friends
Being a French citizen means that I am European
Am I then also Dutch, Danish or German?
Does it really matter?
Am I not just another man?

baby's breath, tulips, disorientation,
swinging to saxophonists in french yards
and for this I cry when waking
because you’re only a fool's gold,
a vinyl alyssum, a grafted painting
yet I see you here still
on these tonic midnights
lurking in the garden of tuileries.

Ode to a Norwegian mother.


How did you get to be so strong?
I shake my head in disbelief
At how she carries gold and grief
All day; all night-time long.

A silver crown upon her hair;
Those strands of grey now shine.
They speak of struggles; mother's
Fears. I wish that hers were mine.

I ask her: "Share that weight with me.
I know your legs are worn and sore."
But men have tried and failed before;
She says: "It's mine, just leave it be."

She'll pick the sun down from the
Skies. She'll sing until the ocean cries. 
She'll shift the planets all at once,
To clear a path for her two sons

To rise as Kings of Time and Space, 
And guide this place from guilt to
Grace. She raises them to save the day.
I say: Let's not get in their way.