I
Short chamomile dressed in whitewash displays
a yellow teardrop flexing its elasticity against
the north wind’s tide, whims reflection of the sun’s
benevolence to caress the leaf of opulence prior
to hoarfrost of approaching evening jibs and foresails unfurl
these wonders and dreams while little houses
frescoed by rose petals and grapevines grieve transparent tears
and lean toward the sea on the hillside
jibs and mizzen sails filled with nude hopes
sail away as the lonely white chapel on the
mountain peak stares in awe and excitement
Here! Yes, here
deep in the sacred soil my roots morph a life
and suddenly I summon a soul from transparent waters
of the primeval rivulet; I sprout up a golden crocus
laughing in the embrace of meaning
Here! Yes, here
light reins for strong arms of the sun
fluidity becomes a sanctified body incised in the stone
wall in my flesh
Here! Yes, here
the sanctity of the kiss, pureness in
the touch of Kore’s pubic hair constitutes a solitaire
primeval sacrament saintly miracle
I come to accept by deciphering insignificance
that is expected of me by the essence of my forefathers
and their illuminating symbols
