|I see my beauty in you. |
I become a mirror
that cannot close its eyes to your longing.
My eyes wet with yours in the early light.
My mind every moment giving birth,
always conceiving, always in the the ninth month….
And then, an empty sky
and everything is soul and flowering.
Everything is soul and flowering.
Every thing is soul and flowering.
How do I stand this?
We become these words we say….
I never know what I’m
going to say.
I don’t plan it.
When I’m outside the saying of it,
I hardly speak at all.