Every Morning
the world is resurrected from an old song
and out of the sum of all uncertainties.
These are times of unexpected endings.
Kings are no longer murdered
they are known by many names
and remembered by many more.

Winds no longer impregnate nymphs
they are lonelier and more silent.
And lovers are sacrificed at midwinter
for another divine apple.

Every Morning
I wonder who is killing birds in my yard
and threatening the sun in the moon's name...
with a perpetual night !!

If you want to pray for me...
or for the journey,
do not put your cloak on!
But invite all the creatures
and all the shadows of ancient paths.
We are all reborn from the mists of the moon.
We are all more invisible
by making ourselves seen.