128 I'm filled with your sky to the edge -- I can't breathe. The world is no more than the space in your eyes -- Contracted in pupils, the black of the night, And squeezed in your iris, the blue of the wind. I'm filled with your sun to the edge -- I can't sleep. I'm watching the needles of rain in my soil That stitch, with the thread of the prints from your soles, My fear of the hollow, my pain of ravines. The world is no longer than time in your eyes -- Your pupils that play, with the needles of rain, The disks of your iris with music of waves. I'm silent -- I'm filled to the edge with your sound.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems