Eyes: in which my hand was reflected,
briefly, in stupendous blue.
Mirror of nightface of stars
on the oceans
mirror of time
in the hand’s plunging motion
onto the surface of night
teaching the mind how to write.
My hand on your brow
through the eyeborn distance
the loss in the word
flaring and fading to die
in the darkness developing behind the opening eye.
Who, at the last, stood in whose reflection?
Who, at the first, brought the image to perfection
and jumped the lost space of time
leaving a word in your streaming iris
that was not yours or mine?
In the eyeblink of occurrence – what forgiveness?
To a lifetime of reversal – what resistance?
This world can open the wound
of childhood’s betrayal – kiss me –
only so much.
The rivers of Eden
run dry in the eyes of the mind
at the breath of your touch.