Who is not so rare, that there is more than one of her?
her every moment less than recrudescent love?
his blood a treasure less than ruby?
Who has not
in the very namelessness of passing
on the street
in the air overhead
altered entire, the fabric of our own existence,
whose absence from the nameless space, there
does not threaten the fantastic silk of Being entire?
There will be a pause before annihilation
when despair will hang its unbearable cry
endless
in the heart of the void.

***

rara-avis

'Life is as the shadow of a passing bird'

--Talmud

***

Dear Anu,
For all you have given us
Words of solace, rage, good counsel, restraint
No words could begin
to thank you

From the sublime to the ridiculous. I couldn't resist quoting this little ditty from Saki's "The Secret Sin of Septimus Brope" (http://www.fluxus.freeserve.co.uk/Clovis/SeptimusBrope.html):

Daintly little girlie Mavis,
She is such a rara avis,
All the money I can save is
All to be for Mavis mine.

In case you were wondering the secret sin of Septimus Brope is writing such rubbish .

Bingley