- When Orion faced Merope, the Bee-eater,
- the devourer of the drone,
- he faced the honey-comb,
- he faced fields of flowers buzzing,
- he faced the land of milk & honey,
- he faced all sweet & golden realities of this world
- & he fell
- in love
- & as he fell, he felt he flew
- & the feeling was delicious & new
- what he didn’t know was: what to do
- to make the moment grow longer, last;
- so, in this way, he wanted her
- The moment became Merope
- & then he was away from her.
- When he faced the wild, the dangerous beast,
- she was there . . . & she was not there
- & in his anger, he knew her not
- As he rid the island of wild & dangerous beasts,
- each time, he knew her not . . . he knew her not.
- On the last legs of despair & still not understanding
- what to make of the moment, he made
- a list of all beasts, lest he had forgotten one.
- He listened to nobody, though he felt lost.
- His lust led him to drink that old Dionysian wine.