Of Their Eyes Adorned with Crystal Sands
From the outbreath of these fish made of marble,
from the silken stroke
of their slim sides,
their eyes touched
with crystal sands,
the quiet of the temples and gardens
(in their acanthus shade, in the stones
they touch and blend with)
they have opened their beds,
have made their own wet ways
under the almond trees' warm leaves.
They tell of the touch
of this light,
of that quiet interplay sliding at the edge of things,
at the slow edge of sunsets,
from their freezing lips.
Eyes of precious stone.
From the fine spray they throw off, and the fragrances
(In the halls: the candle-light, the amaranth's unfading flower.)
On the altar, light as a touch, when it's time to sow the seeds.
(From the temple:
lovely smells; of stooked-up corn,
stags and does. They tell of what is given back in reflection.)
their delicate marble-stony silence
with their precious crazings, clean contours
(they have flooded out the light
at the shoreline, in the sands)
upon that sheer image
upon the harvest gifts
from the meadows.