Blind Orion is seeking the sun.

‘Alone sitting here, all ears for spring I grow green with envy at all this growing green about me, And diligent among my hard won words, Wait in silence for something, or better still someone To wake me from my winter sleep, My long and fretful hibernation.’ 

- Anthony Naumann

El Búho (‘buo) – The Owl

In the night I hear them call, Move in the dark, their shapes unfold, In these eyes I quiver, darker still In closed doors.     Don’t speak like you were there,                            One is here, I feel its stare Rumoured still,                           and hidden by the sightless                                     Who have seen.

If I lay my head down, Don’t blame the light’s power, Or those who claimed it from me. 

This time I’m torn, please wake me if I lose that face. Search in these eyes. There’s still fire in the darkness And rooms of light.

Still I dream in greens and blues, Days that break and skies that move, Memory’s eyes that quiver, Bound in spheres of milk and glass. Don’t speak like you were there, One is here, I feel its stare Rumoured still, and hidden by the sightless Who have seen.

If I lay my head down, Don’t blame the light’s power,Or those who claimed it from me.

This time I’m torn, please wake me if I lose that face. Search in these eyes. There’s still fire in the darkness And rooms of light.