October 2000
Mom, we come from the stars, and when we die, we return to them—
so the ancient Greek superstition goes.Plato puts it so eloquently
in the Timeas:we walk upon the earth a second time as the opposite sex
if we live lives of little consequence.I don't know if I believe in reincarnation,
the Greek version, or any version at all, a second sex.But I do believe
you walk the earth in my vicinity, and if only I could open the right door,
walk down the right street, or look through the right window—well, this is wrong,
all wrong, yet I sense you near me, in me, always—Was Telemachus misled?
You called three times—more that last month—then nothing.And then
I knew—you had returned to the stars.Now, your light shines brightly
in me.Perihelion to your sun, your son, I feel your fiery trace within.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem