Passion

They lived
notoriously long lives

until they
acquired the essence

of constant
passion.  Then it

was too
late, like rhinoceros'

horns, which
are not made of ivory.

Passion, like
bones too easily accepted

for what
they were not, is desired

all over
the deserted world.

Are our
egos served by working

in Babel,
as if all languages are the

same?  Have
we abandoned any attempt?