Water

Are they words, flowing toward you, or are they tears? Each word thus — a leaf or a wisp of straw on the wave of this tear — flowing toward you. Drop by drop wave by wave they come one after another on the empty page they join together. This is a river that overturns the petty borders of drops and little words. This is a river that passes beyond the limits of the page the limits of the room the limits of locks and soils. This is a river that takes my lonely mirror drop by drop upon its hand: facing the sun and the moonlight. Facing the white flight of the clouds. Facing the soft mouth of your gazelle. It takes it in hand and the whole mirror and the whole thirsty mouth the whole sun and moonlight surging, it gallops it sings it brings down the locks of confinement it comes ... The heavy locks — keepsakes of distant times — settle on the riverbed and the sound of my heart — your heart, as it were, in my chest — wave on wave and flowing from the blue mouth of the river rises circles in the endless air and sings: your name, my love, your name, with every word with every wave: coming toward you, from the depths of my darkness ...