The Parable of the Sparrow

Frost spreads
across the dark feathers
of a fallen sparrow,
crystal reflections
skipping
from the silver moon
seem to resurrect
a heart now cold,
yet in this night
full of stars
all is but illusion,
the universe sees not,
nor cares,
when a sparrow falls.

And inside these walls
when the candles sing to us
on these final, pitiful nights,
there shall be revelations
of the world in flames
contained, insensed
within a sacred word.
I see the flame extinguished
and grey smoke to the sky
rises with the sparrow’s song
for a world we have no more.

this is a final edit of two incomplete poems I wrote a number of years ago combined to form a piece with which I’m satisfied.

Goddess

in the dark ruins of Arcadia
fallen to the whims of deities
she stands in still silence
clothed only in the silver aura
of her quiet sensuality
this goddess, reluctant
to the praise of mortal man
waits not for the faithful to return
it is the sacred infidelity of sinners
that her lips most desire.

Bastet

light steps her in such gentle ways
mystery that she relays
with emeralds that secrets hold
wisdom of lost ages told
for as time began, this goddess she
a dark domestic deity
who still exudes this noble form
as if from jet or marble born

The Museum

I heard their moans
as a silent chill
bled on the blade of steel lances
which tore like breaking ice
flesh asunder cracking bone
and souls screaming
for even damnation
above this freezing pain.

And still in these loud stones
as a silent call
their agonies continue
uncaptured in the passing lens
of we who would deny
these corrupted, unending deaths
to admire the gilded palace
carved from their tortured ends.

Palazzo Ducale : 2026