Innamorata

The Recluse

A man is well understood by looking at his dwellings and the possessions that he carries on his self. If that was the only measure of man, then Maxim could be best gauged as a hermit. He chose to call no particular place his own. He had lived many lives it seems, solitary confinement in corsica, a bare minimum place to call his own inside the Chateaux d' If of the coast of marseilles, a cap to identify him and a cell in a block of Alcatraz, Kaala Pani in Andman and Nicobar islands, a bachelor pad in east manhattan while working as a stock broker, an artists studio in SOHO London, a cottage for several years when he had attempted to solve the Goldbach's conjecture, lost with a couple of goats while shipwrecked when cruising the seven seas and perhaps in his older years as a lone curator of butterflies in the island of Papillon of the Canary Islands. But she was to enter his life like stormy water helped by gale force winds kicked off by a distant tornado in the mid-west finding its way through cracks in an old shanty and what happened was a deluge of music, so it goes

A Skewed Hermitian Prosody 

From the russian river, to the golden gate, to the sunset.

I recall a haiku, a couplet, and a sonnet.

A tale much like hamlet in the wild wild west.

Where the coyotes cackle, foxes trot, roes roundabout and wolves howl.

Wild things beckon, lauren shines, kate shimmies and meryl fades.
To the indies where serpents dance to a distant haze
And across the urals and carpethians to europes maze.

Summer harvests, Rainy dances, Winter Frost and Fall Romances
Of a twosome and then a foursome and so it continues
Maxim, Julia, Vlad, Misha, Raj, Meera, Radha, Kris
Frank, Nancy and Joe with Laura, not to mention the Joneses.