LIVES

And lives go on until they wither

I talk of lives that gave themselves

to light, serene love, lives which

go down like babbling brooks

hiding in them this light

the sky reflects into the rivers

and the sun flows in it.

I speak of lives that gave themselves to light

about the little lives that hang

like rubies from the lips of women

like offerings that hang from

church icons, silver hearts

exquisitely humble, yet in love

with the lips of a woman.

I speak of little lives that hang.

The unsuspicious lives

that silently follow

darkened, foreign, saddened steps

image of a delicate woman

who hasn’t sensed them following

and who will lean onto the earth

and vanish silently: the unsuspicious lives

that vaguely and doubtfully pass

like stars of the morning twilight

in the thought of a morning soul

that hasn’t seen its life

withering slowly just as it ran

joyously and unfettered passing.

Lives that doubtfully and vaguely have passed.