Out of the mid-wood’s twilight
Into the meadow’s dawn,
Ivory limbed and brown-eyed,
Flashes my Faun!

He skips through the copses singing,
And his shadow dances along,
And I know not which I should follow,
Shadow or song!

O Hunter, snare me his shadow!
O Nightingale, catch me his strain!
Else moonstruck with music and madness
I track him in vain!

You cannot hear your own thoughts
When you are surrounded by chaos

Beauty and terror oh! so close
Rilke was quite right

He traveled in Muslim Europe
Islamic angels for insight

Mohammed heard the Koranic voice
Command him to recite

Water in the desert
The Alhambra at midnight

                     Delight!

what was once Ivory
has now returned to granite
BOTH WE LIE, IN THE EARTH,
yet i.. i am still tortured with breath, with sight.

there is no need of voice.
i will hang on the farewell as it is a rope from Troy around my neck.
lull me down with you please, please, please. i am nothing but that.
there is nothing more to be said.

HOW DO YOU LIVE WHEN WHAT MADE YOU YOU IS DEAD?
(sleep in the wheat, i will be there soon.)
you find the quickest way to them instead.
                                                        ­          
                                 i am not sorry.

who would have thought
that his smile
and soulful eyes
could bring Achilles
the mightiest of heroes
to his knees

certainly not Patroclus himself
for the sun does not know
that it shines so beautifully
it just does