54 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.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems