The day I met you I tore up

all my maps

an my prophecies

like an Arab stallion I smelled the rain

of you

before it wet me

heard the pulse of your voice

before you spoke

undid your hair with my hands

before you had braided it

***

There is nothing I can do

nothing you can do

what can the wound do

with the knife on the way to it?

***

Your eyes are like a night of rain

in which ships are sinking

and all I wrote is forgotten

In mirrors there is no memory.

***

Woman in whose voice

silver and wine mingle

in the rains

From the mirrors of your knees

the day begins its journey

life puts out to sea