Dawn Man

On a hill in Blues (Isla Plana, Murcia)

This man leaves his nest

Of thorns and down

To grow hair wild,

Flirting with the breast and body

The beast buried deep

With veins fit to burst,

The dying embers creep,

His numb thumbs severed

As a dowry.


Face him for once,

Eye to eye,

In light and dark shades,

See him in living colour

Without grief or grime,

Skin oiled and fragrant of the pyre

Wearing his battle dress

For a final time.


Never returning,

To tell of more or less,

Loves light did not begin

With the dawn of man.


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