We present this work in honor of the 75th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Your eyes have perished;
You have been so long at sea.
But I too
Am lacking a beach.
My temples are made of shell,
Weeds and sea-stars hang on me.
Some day I want to rove
With my aimless hand across your face,
Or be a lizard on your lips
Curling up in the thrall of love.
Incense streams out of your skin,
I want to celebrate
And bring you all my gardens.
My heart breaks out in blossoms everywhere.