To all intents and purposes
The king died on his throne
The court gathered in their masses
He was far from alone
Flanked by his truest knights
He tried to stand
And hail the throng
The mob sweetly
Took his breath
To sing
His final song.

One day I'll come home,
To bask in golden sun,
To swim in bluest waves.
Through wheat fields, I'll chase Persephone,
Knowing I can't save her,
Yet love will prevail—
Dramatic kisses beneath erupting Etna.

I long to meet among Greek ruins,
To explore Phoenician treasures.
I wish to be engulfed in the aromas
And candor of happy vendors,
Filling fresh markets all morning long.

I dream of your quietness,
And the loudness of passionate people.
I ache for home,
My sweet Sicily.

Sicilian translation:

Un jornu mi ritornu a casa,
A vagghiari di lu suli d'oru,
Pi nutari nta l'unni cchiù blu.
Attraversu li campi di frummentu, haju assicutari Persefuni,
Sapennu ca nun la pozzu sarvari,
Eppuru l'amuri privalerà...
Vasati drammàtici sutta l'Etna ca scuppia.

Anziamu di 'ncuntrari ammenzu a ruvini grechi,
Pi esplurari li tesori finici.
Vuliu èssiri nghiuttutu di l'aromi
E candor di vinnituri filici,
Riempi li mircati frischi tutta la matina.

Sunnu la tò quieti,
E la vuci di genti appassiunati.
Mi duluri pi casa,
Sicilia mia duci.

You are the black tulip,
In a field of warm colors.
Slender, atop the hill,
You drew me in.
With petals shining in light of moon,
From the start I knew,
You were a dangerous beaute.
I dove in anyways,
Into your inky waters.
Where your roots wrapped around me,
Keeping me in your whispers,
Torment as I tried to swim.
I know you lied,
When we would say goodbye,
If this is how you treated the man you loved,
Do you really love at all?

On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.

Place complacent
Goal adjacent
Stationary travel

Looking forward
Tracking outward
Soothing inward
Riding grounded

Freshing breathing
Pace increasing
Mind obeying
Ease emerging

Every sneaker orbit
an antidote

Every heavy leg revolution
spreading lulling
warm calm

Every pushing movement
a granted request
for stillness

We should live
rather than question:
in diving into living
we'll find the meaning

a question posed
another to be mentioned
if we live in such a lacuna
we'll die for want of reason