The Passions

Attempting to escape the passions I kiss the white lips of Mother Moon, she trembles and turns towards the opposite, and I … I pray … my hands pray a silent prayer … that beyond, yonder, a distant land will help, that there is help, yonder: help – help me – help…

I whisper her name, her pain my gain, I summon her again as I feel her pale pain transcend … the canyon, our canyon of dreams and dents, where

I am.

She is.

We are

unable to escape our passions; the last in line greet us but as we dance our final dance

between the now and the then we find neither room for the last nor the present selves embraced, unreflective of life and lives – unconsummated.