I would care to meet you
man of the low sky,
who catches the winds voice
in his hand
...
The wind is dying
and memories
like falling leaves
lay dead
...
The cries of the hunter
ring free within the night
and pursue in damning darkness
through the garden of all sight.
...
With the dim light
of terrible day
in lifes asylum,
still, bone faced,
...
The old goat sleeps
with piccalo,
hunts in dream
some lover near,
...
'Tis clear demise,
my Judas.
Kiss my eyes farewell.
It is too late to cry for me.
...
Night music,
cascading, warm
through her veins
in gentle pleasure,
...
Warm your hands
on my heart
and I will liven you.
deep in me
...
The rustic table
once furnished hearty food,
rough, red wine,
hosted kind,
...