Your eyes are the homeland of lightning
and of tears,
a silence laid to waste.
A storm without wind, a sea without waves,
captive birds, golden sleeping beasts,
faithless topazes, like truth.
Autumn in a clearing where light sings
to the shadow of a tree, and where all the leaves
are birds,
a shore that meets splashed eyes in the morning,
a basket of fiery fruit,
a nourishing lie,
a mirror of this world, the door to the beyond,
the quiet pulse of the sea with absolute brilliance,
at noon
an ice desert.
