All of you no doubt have felt
the soft sleep, the sweetest dizziness
easing you down on the bed

Now she is unadorned
and the years come to pass, in handfuls,
with the wit of shears and

We heard the rain and those
who were returning: each thing
in the calm of speaking

The blanket, its weight, while we were growing.
Or the eyes, which yesterday were blind,
today yours, yesterday the indivisible. The vials,

Steely forehead. Steely forehead.
When the sun comes up, you’ll have it quenched.
You feed with me among the sky’s black chains.

A child pointed at the sky, made it his,
and then he points at the one he loves
and suddenly it’s his sky,

it will comprehend everything
with the struggle in the room, the imploring
look and then:

even if the desire
is to believe in everything at once
uttering a quiet, intense thanks

“I would only like to repeat, you know, nothing else”
this afternoon
it’s impersonal, does not apply to anyone

Only this growing
indifferent to the glance and full
of what one has seen

He’s inside, he must continue, at an infinite
rate, like a word
discovered with other words