here is the wild flower that cuts my eye
that encloses my eyelids
and then I’m just a word broken.


do you know the old story of the eyelid
that fenced the horizon?
as far as your vision travels, it digs a deep well.
and then the well becomes the world.


the droplet on this leaf is a frozen ocean
that sculpts water too.
my words are chips of ice that never melt.



do you know the old story of the stone
that makes the eye flower
as far as you extend your arm , it raises a hill too.
and then the hill becomes the image.


I can see everything in this world of mine
an earth too, except for the sky.
let the head that is rooted in the soil bloom.
and then you see a green leaf with a chest as broad as heaven.


that one is the word
never written. *