I am finished with love's mad illusions. I'd rather listen to an evening's sad string quartet
Coming through the moonlight's yellow doorway in curlicues and iron.
I am finished with love's mad illusions. And I am confounded by the gravitational pull
Of the moon as solitary stars appear miffed in their nocturnal abode.

I look out my stone window thinking about my soul or lack of one therein.
Then I travel deep inside the corporeal realm where dreams choke the memory and
Strangle the heart's lonely intentions. In all this, I am quite content with a little
Unhappiness. For in the space of a life there is no time for happiness, only static civility
Between the doing and undoing.

So in going back to the sea we are mortal mollusks, agents of the divine comedy,
Speeding headlong into the abyss. But in my dreams, dreams of the virtuous heart, I am
Not alone in my melancholia. One travels before me carrying his cross to the Hill of the
Skull. In all this, I remain content with the solo act of love and when I am finished there
Is a muted prayer fluttering by on the wing of a melodious butterfly.

And when you are finished, finished with love's mad illusions, you will hear the
Evening's sad music streaming through the moon's yellow doorway in curlicues and iron.