Your eyes are the homeland of lightning, which frightens, and of tears, which grieve;
they are silences that speak,
storms without wind, currents without waves,
caged birds whose chirping drives them to despair;
blue topazes, as impious as water.
They are autumn, in a forest clearing where the light rushes through the treetop when only three leaves remain; they are also almost birds.
They are the beach of dawn, where the foam finds its sand.
They are the basket of frost-rimmed fruit;
they are truths that incite lies,
mirrors from here and stars from there;
tranquil pulses of the swell,
sharp edges that blink,
wastes,
They are…
docpoetry