The full moon casts the end and the beginning.
The river tamarind tree -- dead and slender --
beside the thriving pink bougainvillea
-- vibrant, flamboyant, frolicking with butterflies --
rises mightily like a distant castle.
So cold, the sea breeze leaves me shivering,
and I don't want any warmth.
I don't want to feel anything.
The sky binds my countenance to it,
as if I am indebted to its chains.
Gazing at the eyes peppered
across the cloudless night, I see none.
I see tomorrow is never promised,
as murky as an aging vision,
thinning and fading.
Oh, how bright is the night
I am blinded not by this love.
The seed of this mystery
keeps on growing and growing
and sprouting all the more its greenness.
I listen to your voice from the far mountain,
to the strings I so long to hear.
My heart plunges to ache after ache.
I want to see your delicate face,
to stare at it, to adore the beauty that it is.
Oh, my love, this clarity from Heaven speaks out loud.
All the great things above me,
reassuring and comforting,
fill the spaces in my whole being.
The divine works enliven me fully.