I wonder how much was know to them---the
beautiful young men of Alexandria---who
became the Muses of your most erotic poetry;
brief moments and furtive glimpses preserved as
permanent evocations in your pages.
Time does not pause or linger to savor or
privilege these fleeting experiences; but a
poem can; thus Poetry becomes superior to the
time represented by calendars and clocks:
Poetry that enters the realm of the stars,
which mark the nearer edge of Eternity.
J-Called