i speak for no place
but Java is an island
of inwardness

there is no welcome sign
there are no gods and no
it would not like to sell itself to you

a hot shower is hard to find
the homestays are all syariah
the call to prayer interrupts your sleep

yet the women press you to their breast
the coffee served is bitter-sweet
and Tengger keeps the everlasting gravity

in cedars saw we held a hidden rustle
of greener paths behind the highland cloud
in dialogue among smouldering volcanoes

if i could live in Java
i would never need
to write another poem


//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

who (were)
being beloveds (philoi ontes)
to one another
before they did (prassein)
these things

// 233α

οἳ καὶ πρότερον ἀλλήλοις φίλοι ὄντες ταῦτα ἔπραξαν

//

(photo from April 2024)