In sleep, we are forbidden to see
But have visions.
I close the gate on unwanted visitors,
And make sure everything else
Is closed before the eyes –
Doors, windows, cabinets, radio, lights,
The computer where emails have turned
Into messages forwarded, too unpersonal;
Chain letters promising wealth or more friends –
A clue that you have grown tired of writing,
Or perhaps, have not totally forgotten about me.
The house should be darker than the streets.
Awaking, I open what has been closed
Like nature peeling the imaginary skin
Of flower buds petal by petal
Until the flowers blossom
Washed by dew, baptized by rain,
Now ready to tell secrets
Of people they do not know
And secrets they do not know whose –
With their nakedness,
They cannot hide anything.
It should be brighter inside.
I then wait for somebody’s lover
In the bridge at the backyard
Where I was neither here nor there,
Gapping two different places – yours and mine.
Patiently I wait, until the sun sets
Feeling it fall on my shoulders,
On my back, almost everywhere
On my body for I have opened myself
For a death by sunset -- heavy and scorching.
My eyes become the full moon –
Furiously bright, glaring at everything
Too beautiful to have closed.
