A Fauns’ Delicacy
I am like a faun that plays between the wild forests and the labyrinth. Though, not in sorrow, nor in joy, but in rhythm. The faun can always hear the sweet melodies in the distance that run deeper than through the sensual ear. Yet, this faun has not forsaken the dirt and the leaves, and the smell of the rain has not deserted me. I am not lost as I have been told. I am never too far and astray. This place I lay between the earth and all else. . . .is where I lift a little under both the pebble and the petal, and yet still I find my sun and moon. I run my fingers along currents, sensing the subtleties of things. Mines is not a path pursuant of supreme transcendence. It is foreplay; of being on the cusp. It is a delicate state of being. Once dithering between wildfields and vast prairies, I find myself yet here at peace in a place between spaces, and this peace I have gained is balance and restores me when I need filling. It is solace. It is delightful gluttony, subsisting on the great fig.