The lilacs were in bloom on the day of your death.
Consecrated by Moscow’s golden cupolas,
You boomed and sang, the storm’s hierophant,
Tenderness and courage in those huge amber eyes.
That sovereign stallion’s head, alert to vibrations,
Shot out laser glances at the strangest tangents,
Catching nature unawares. Erupting in centrifugal
Genesis, you stormed the silence with ecstasies,
Obedient to destiny’s strictures, never failing
To praise life with an awkward seraph’s joy.
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