The flight of wary goats to a distant valley, or cliff side Firmly grasping the pigeon pea stalks underfoot, perturbed bees watching close from the perfumed citrus flowers
Category: poetry
The Rite of Spring
It is the sun that hovers
Just above the sea
it leads us to death,
and through death
to continuity
The savage thinks he can make the wind be still
Corners catch the frogs in their escape- settled through terror, on dead forests dense with memory. A diet of expanding air, a fortune that declares An expansion of desire.
Desatura 