Lugalirra- the burning man.
The sacred smoke from the pine tree, juniper tree, Ceder tree.
Cut the tree and catch its blood in a bucket
Its blood is full of
Whilst oak is for the dead.
The long poles in solar circles
Cut with fire-stone flint.
Sunk deep into post holes
Light, flame and soul.
Attis in panic and despair
Castration under the pine trees
Who hunt Dumuzi over the desert of grass
Who have no homes, know not the love of wife or child...
The dancing castrati of Roman times
For love of Cybele
Offer their pearl-filled sacs
The crossed torches carved into stone at Eleusis.
Cautes and Cautopates.
The priest shaking lustral water from a pine cone.
Only Plato can ruin my reverie
"Many carry the thyrsus, but the bacchants are few".
Oh tish tish you old misery!
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
The reverie alone will do
If bees are few.