I return once again,
into the sanctuary of my beloved.
Much has changed in this
forest of mine,
from the time of my departure
The daisies have come too soon,
the wild daisies.
I can not welcome them,
and I can not ask them to leave.
A storm of heavy hail in the
middle of summer? Where did it come from? and
where did it go?
Where are the snowy winters
and my curious villagers?
Wading into oblivion are my bears and berries.

The crown of my sanctuary
melts,
at the speed of wildfires.
It’s cold and it’s strange,
under this summer’s warmest
skies.
My Dear Jabarkhet,
your preserved body slides,
with every passing second, with every breath taken.
I left the forest in the hands of
the democrats and their democracy,
in the books of their so-called united Nations. This is not a dialogue.
This is a loud and clear mourning,

from my shrine to my sanctuary!
While this galaxy of daisies stay,
I will dance,
till the moss takes over my feet,
till my anklets break free,
till the winds collide,
and the Gods arrive,
with my char-kohled eyes,
and my tangled hair,
with my remaining infants,
and their remaining days.