Sometimes you let go
ethnicity for a gentle tug
at your arm.
Gravitas. You were
always explicit about your will
to ride a tiger.
I see your face
in dark, ditching the moon.
I want to cry to hear Beethoven.
Death in crowd, I
would\'t ask. Where was the black
monument, where light lives?
Lapping up the silence
you start spreading the rumors.
He survives in the marriage
of thunders.
Flowers smile. O God
why were you―
hiding behind the sun?