It is the shadow of water,
and the echo of a sigh,
the remnant of a gaze,
memory of an absence,
a nakedness of a woman behind a glass.

She is enclosed, dead, finger
of the heart, she is your ring,
far from the mystery,
simple as a child.

Drops of light filled
empty eyes,
and a body of leaves and wings
went to the dew.

Drink her with the eyes,
fill her now, my love.
She is yours as if she’s no one’s,
yours like a suicide.

Rocks that I buried in the air,
trunks that I drowned in the river,
see my heart floating
over her simple body.