You don’t deserve the Light. Something
after the explosion of the cells
arranged for you to bequeath dark water,
the quicksilver of life. Life has been lived
for you, your merit is limited to words.
Everywhere, though, example and serenity
you are, reliable. As if a sky could
rely on a star, as if one should decide
where his eyes are put.
I started as one
who grazes the lilies, with a seal on the heart,
in my hand a hand that is not to be
mine, the cold was watching me through the
slot of the eyes of an unborn child.
From my rock
Moses shoud bring forth aqua fortis
to etch away my other part.
So that quicksilver could
turn into gold. I could still grow
flesh and bone.