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Summer Fauve
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The Lost Song of The Nightingale

Night erupting into my dark mind
Blazing forests in the lonely air
Where you will not go for fear that you will
Find yourself
Wounded in the darkness
And not where you expected at all
Neither the wolves nor the tigers
Nor the great soaring eagle will you find
The riddle never had an answer
Shall I say I have wept
At the feet of great mountains?
Or planted a holy kiss on the lips
Of an undeserving prince?
Neither is battling with golden lions
A worthy explanation
Instead these empty white hands
That open to embrace the world
Unadorned and vulnerable
As the innocent
Will say far more than any
Warrior king could.
Summer Fauve (c) 1996