Poetry - may you be a green body.

May you be a language

in which I wander

with my wings and my self.

Be the inspiration of my tongue,

so that I may pasture

the tribes of my voice - though they are silent.

 

Sleepless

and alone, I see

you will not be

a green body.

You were neither

a good master, to be bought,

nor the muse.

My longed for delirium, my memory.