You understand the mystery which
diminishes over things when they unloose their bones.
You harrow me and the most harrowing scene in the morning cloth
is the moment when I wake up with my soul caught between the agony of the mundane
and the bewildering beauty
of the most abandoned roads
hushing sadly into your heart.

Your eyes divide the light
farther
into a gate of vast tears.
I’m overflowing myself from your hands
to understand
that the dream of this life is wind
and storm.

Your skin’s
a rain that falls upon the wilderness
to clarify the dust
and the open darkness
like a piece of death.

For me it’s enough
to utter yourself for the age
of solitude.