We were not in the

same book. Gods different,

we were placing dots

and dashes, smelling nights

writing our own epitaphs.

What this insane world

had offered to you in the

family of nonbeings?

I learn to sell my

wounds to buy peace.

The equinox equals

the strange life. Half yours and

half mine.

Undoing the disgrace

of falls, living in glorious

retreat, you do not want

to be understood.

The evergreen grass under

the running feet, would have the last laugh.