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The painted hero

Accompanied by the hummingbird

Who lived within the nest of souls

Exiled to a defiant star

Where the wind split the sky in two

And the moon was confused with the eyes that gazed upon it

The cosmic waters which have eaten storms

A mea culpa

For is it not the feminine which travels into the forest

The unavenged embodiment of passion squeezed out the last few remaining tears that journey left in

The demiurgic adornments and ornaments that dug the trench

Below rest

This myth does not inspire a verdict

But instead a creative indifference

A name, curiously eponymous with a novel vexation

Could we not imagine a world without color, fragrance?