WHERE IS heaven? you ask me, my child,- the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of this earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore lo be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother-dust.
LISTEN, MY heart, in his flute is the music of the smell of wild flowers, of the glistening leaves and gleaming water, of-shadows resonant with bees' wings. The flute steals his smile from my friend's lips and spreads it over my life.