"Wherever we turn in the storm of roses, the night is lit up by thorns" ~ Ingeborg Bachmann

He is wearing a garland of roses And also a crown of memories.

No Romans at his back, and now The only cross he carries is composed

Of clocks' ticking hands. Tonight, There is a hungry feast he is supposed

To be at, but he appears to have lost The invitation. These footprints

In the snow - the shade of roses. Did Orpheus climb out of earth,

Alone with his defeat somewhere here? Dusklight through frost’s glaze rainbows,

And takes him to the cathedral that was Her throat in the middle of a song.

The wolf will rend this memory to pieces, And night will be lit by the thorns,

Wedded to his rose-hued palms.

December 2009, Washington DC