I am pair of eyes and a wing gracelessly falling to the sand, not knowing
That a humongous cloud blows out zephyrs just to pick me up...
How puffed up its cheeks! Like a spoiled manor kid with tiny eyes.

So near collision, gentle hands pick me up and place me back onto the upper air.

In thanks, I pleasure my savior with a shrapnel of quick soprano kisses,

Then flutter my own way, as finely graced as a memory of flight, a reveille.
Again, I do not merely travel down the shore like a cruel snake encrusted with common stones;

I am a seeker for “the word”. The first word and the only, and sometimes not even a word.
Skydome’s a field of many grains but below all’s instilled alien: white sand where no life rears…
Not a lonely palm nor even scraps of deep green algae torn apart by a Jimmy Dean sea

And vomited by impotent bloodless waves upshore,
Not even a pair of tiny crabs weekend-promenading far from home,
Just a noxious smell of rebirth, of springtime, in every crevice

And up from each sleeping stone,
The carrion ghost of past seasons.
Above, the poor pale moon is an ancient buoy

Sprinkled over by passing schools of phosphorescent carps...
While an entrapped comet slowly glides from horizon to horizon,
A lonely dimming poi.

I’ve passed through a million nights, but basking in this one’s constant warmth,

And seeing the first sparkles on the horizon,

I realize that I’ve arrived.

This is the land where truth went to hide.
The night shuffles its atoms to form a holy city, and the tapestry of stars is as still
As a Byzantine mural, revealing at its center a castle.

And see that tiny flag in the corner of the world?

A carriage of light surely nears…

The groom’s arriving to the Great Marriage

Where the clans of day and of night are to be joined.


And there she is!
From out the castle’s star-shaped silver gate, donned in agates and imperious purples,
Exits a conqueress! Out to meet her groom she comes.
Stillness melts into electric intensity of excited colors in her dress;

While, its streaks of light die into the dancing folds held up by the amorphous nightly ambassadors of the great god Sun who pace behind her.

A bright carriage drawn by comets halts in the sky’s deepest region

And a young nightly sun steps out of it…

Oh the dashing young prince!

All revelation and the entire world’s firstborn light, compacted in a shape no bigger than the Northern Star!

The bride and the groom fuse into a permuting galaxy shape,

And are reborn as fountains of orgasming roses shooting through vast silky violets,

As aquamarine crystals blooming nearby,

While beneath them ripple licks and ebbing walls of molten rubies – red as the blood of virgin angels,

And above them snaking streams of blinding green light explode like rockets from the mouths of gigantic electric trumpets.

Like a pack of ecstatic dragons all rushing to and fro…

I have known the Sun, long known the Sun…

But who is this queen from whose swirling eyes fall emerald tears of joy?

Who is this warrior bride that waves a sapphire sword that glows with the brightest starlings?
And now, beside the young Sun, she bids him to put off his labor, to keep his kingdom of daylight at bay,

Then, growing vaster than he, vaster than the whole of the Skydome, she burns brighter and brighter with a thousand colors, laughing perpetually at the awed silent world around her, the rebellious enchantress,

Her laughter is continuous startling flares igniting reveries in mere air, and her body is revelry.
And in her frivolous glory, all night she dances, dances for her groom, for the cosmos, for us!
But oh, what mysteries must she keep in her folds, this Questionless
Aurora Borealis?!