After the night,
and after the sight...
Our childhood fades, its dream undone,
and wonder hides from everyone...
The unknown is always
guarded by senseless meaning...
They ascend to judgment
on stilts of sycophancy...
Butterflies, butterflies
here and there...
(for Ben Picard)
We no longer learn from one another...
Still she waits.
Still she burns...
No one comes to see my garden,
to sit...
O, a head,
the spark...
None may speak above right
For Right is the ultimate of mankind...
What we call personal
is not...
The distance
between stars and seconds...