Three nuns with parchment on transparent ancient faces,
With punishment to write on its blank sheets,
With crosses, small to crucify, but big
To mourn, when writing with a nail on crumpled pages,
Collected, smiling, parts of me in sparkling vessels --
One keeps my rib, which fell apart from you,
Another holds my eyes of your blue hue,
The third is carrying my hand, which touched your elbow.
And chaste, I do not need my eyes to keep your image,
I do not need my rib to lack your chest,
I do not need my hand to touch your hand
And write on ancient faces what was never written.