It is the third dream of spring.
I spent the afternoon reading French poetry and observed the rare posture of late flowers. I smoked tea, watered the dry hearts and like Orpheus charmed the animals…Since I am patient I awaited the sanity of the countryside and lay where the earth kindled her stars. There was the red of the sunset and fruit from a youthful orchard.
There is a beauty behind a rosebush…My senses descended upon the beauty…the chasm between angel and God… and far from the hamlet of erotic tears, the idol showed her face….
The English rose bloomed long ago…the wild beauty is unrecognisable!