There was a silence
of wine and myrrh,
an absence equal
to a presence —
Petals came
falling upon it,
showers of eglantines,
jasmine like beads.
No word was left
inside me, yet
the red stain
of my lipstick
on the glass
proved I had
a voice — once.
In the East,
a transparent band
of blue sky,
almost a torture,
Light, Light
does not resent
sorrow —
We were so many
with a heavy heart,
wearing it
at noon,
like a peculiarly
fine jewel.
I remember
among vine and myrtle
I wished to cry.
Yet, I laughed.