Your hand flew from my eyes into the day.
The light arrived and opened like a rose garden.
Sand and sky throbbed like an ultimate
beehive carved in the turquoise.
Your hand touched syllables that rang like bells,
touched cups, barrels full of yellow oil,
flower petals, fountains, and, above all, love,
Love: your pure hand guarded the ladles.
The afternoon… was. Quietly the night slid
over a man asleep, its celestial capsule.
Honeysuckle set loose its sad savage odor.
And then your hand fluttered, it flew back again:
it closed its wings, its feathers I had thought were lost,
over my eyes the darkness had swallowed.