Creatures of Flame
We are all creatures of flame. The butterfly: the intensity of a short life and fragility
become color. My death is like shadow, my life aquiver, a pulse in the light; I am so
close to death it makes me proud, cruel and demonic.
Unmoved, I flutter from Helen's lips to Adonis' wound.
I love my death, the flame, more than anything.
Creature of the Flood
Poem of the Mussels
We are alone in the dark. You up there have lips, rolled-up leaves, hands entwined with rosy blood and bluish veins, we are alone and cannot touch. We live our life fully, our fate is to resist the waves, that is what we become, and triumph and pain color us as the reflection of fall and of the sun colors the waves there near the surface.