The Beauty of the Husband

Shall we sharpen our eyes and circle closer to the beauty of the husband—
carefully, for he was on fire.
Under him the floor was on fire,
the world was on fire,
truth was on fire.
Around him green fire blew straight off every tree.
He was almost never sad, a god led him on.
Nor did he doubt his fate which looked as Napoleon used to say like this:
I write myself between worlds.

He was not wrong that sad anthropologist who told us the primary function of writing is to enslave human beings. Intellectual and aesthetic uses came later.

Lover, merciful one
you write but you
do not come to me. This one my mother did not read.

Rabbis liken Torah to the narrow sex of the gazelle
for whose husband every time
is like the first time.