He was the Magus of Magic—
Taking the same world others have
But seeing an all-night rain of yellow blossoms,
Cattle born bearing the brand of their owner,
Clusters of grapes containing the secret of death.
Such febrile dreams where love and suffering
Wrap pleading arms around redemption,
Endlessly cycle back on themselves—
He was placed in ordinary time yet surreal,
Where reach of imagination outdistanced logic.
He sensed within scent of jasmine
Invisible ghosts—why are we so blind?
Uninspired, we live in drought—
Trapped within reality’s clear lines
While his vision blurred boundaries,
Saw how miraculous and monstrous
Are equal parts of ordinary days…
Already he is missed… again
Reminding us that love
Resembles cholera in capacity to inflict pain
But that we survive not by love alone—
It takes imagination and exuberance and an
Endless inventive mind.