If the sky, Turned into Stone, It would matter not at all, For there is no heaven, In the sky, Hell does not wait, For our downfall!

One noticed his hands,
finely carved,
almost the colour of jade,
and the fingernails,
pink and cultivated.
He spoke of Art
and of poetry
and held us with descriptions
of the Masters.

Often when walking
he sang fragments
of austere Spanish songs
from the Court of Ferdinand,
and quoted Dante
accurately and often.
But in his lapel,
discreetly,
he wore a sprig of asphodel.


asphodel