When the wind is unpredictable
you breathe air from my blue eyes
I say nothing
drink sky droplets
as if the Beloved and you
are my flesh and blood.
With a bright orange rake
you summon dead leaves
as if sweeping a monk’s skirt
remove poem sheets
stack them into a palimpsest
to write anew about love.
O tomorrow, may it never come,
when your aging handsome face
unruly eyebrows and sag of mouth
will be cut with scissors straight into
your lips for a pomegranate smile.
Only then will I lick
the luminescent red drops
escaped into my heart.
high in the andes 