I.

The daughters of the sun are pregnant.
Their bellies ripe with the warmth of silent fires. I warm my hands upon its shadows; and there remained joy, a ritual of silence. The night’s wind blows its horn; the spirit sets the sky alight. Behold the stars and the stars behold you. The dim stars, soft with love are ready to eat. Well, let us forget the sensation of hunger; let us feel the thrill of stars a ’glow. The modest and the meek take fresh delight in the harvest of their senses; the twine of fresh fire. Sing of that which is between us. The orchard where God intends to rise. It is rocked with a cry, the reproach of thy fame. We suffer death because we are never born. I thought this the strange dream. The sun may die, but the light is forever and there in the womb we await that which has already happened.
Like flowers thoughts grow; passion burns thy flesh.
Waters break.
I have reaped what I have sown.
I have the ringing of angels in my ears.
Who is it that dictated the secret teachings?
The answer: I am the one.
Mother of mothers; your children clutch at your breast. At last! We swallow the last judgment. Too tender the spring and the heart is moved only to be still.
On a hot night, the daughters of the sun, who in heat, quiet and pale seduce me and there on the silent bed they made love to me.
Awaking in the morning in the light of the virgin sun.

II.

The iron dawn,

Like a magnet sucked in the air and

Crushed the serpents tongue.

I saved the blood and poured it into a cup. It overflows in the immense sea of mortal flesh; kissing the happy embryo at the foot of a golden shrine. We sing hymns that chime like the stars; those ancient songs. O how I long for those ancient days. When mother earth carried Pan in her arms! The infant Pan on the knee of love.

Faith is king and love is God.

The sun of infinite existence warms the blue waters of noble faith. The waves move in harmony; yet man stands in...