I.
From the very distance of my soul fathomless like the sea but sad like the dry creek embedded between the desert's rolling dunes,
I have risen here to place my light upon the bright and shining hill of the fertile peace and noble solitude of my finest days. And, here I stand.
My stale wonder is the constant struggle of this life as I pull the unbearable cart of untenable memory.
This evokes a haunting and broken certainty because I also remember the load lifted from the heart of a defeated man.
It is a memory of walking on cold wet sand, my feet are blistered, bruised with the exhilaration of nature bound to man.
You are walking beside me, with me, through me—the hollow melancholy of your eyes and the careful pride of your fear has faded now. There is left only the polished seed of a lover's astonishment.
My spirit is stark, naked before you; but I feel neither the shame of Eden's curse nor the unbearable vanity of manliness.
Indeed, I am neither man nor woman, Greek nor Jew. I speak rather as the affable spirit of a pleasant memory.
You tell me like your father before me, I am big and hearty. Full of the exceptional appreciation which is the recognition of the exact genus of your seed.
I see your sadness. So, I am careful. I smile with exactness into the heart of you like a proud parent whose child has fulfilled the ambition of expectations.
I think of making love with you. But only to your eyes— vivid and distant— forlorn yet kind, they are portals.
So I enter. I seek only to find the passion of your ancestors; embedded in a heart —redder than a rose— in dream brighter than the spotlight of this frozen insanity, and I am crazed.
II.
I am a Roman soldier off to war believing that the fight is not worth the glory. I reject
