Close your eyes,
I'll say a word.
You must then tell me what you saw.
Was it the expanse of inside a palm?
Or the last grains of sugar hidden at the bottom
of a cup?
Tell me,
did you see me?
Waiting for you to see me.
Standing under the shade
of a mossasa tree,
swaying from heat.
Swaying from heat.
Close your eyes.
What is the word?
Is it a mystery,
deeper than ancient caves and sleeping pools?
Do you see things at night?
Dreams as voyages,
as rivers,
as wet sheets?
Tell me what you saw.
Do you see things at night?
Was it the droop of eyelids?
The roar of fights and scratches that came from nowhere?
Did it fly into you?
Inhabit you?
Were
your limbs tense?
Your body at war?
Insides of flutter-like liquid butterflies?
Would you see yourself?
Saving yourself
from memories of lovers past who could make
your body do things you never thought possible?
Would you see tears at your feet
from running around,
trying to find yourself in strangers'
eyes?
Close your eyes.
I'll say a word.
Tell me what you saw.
Close your eyes.
What is the word?
Tell me what you saw.
Tell me what you saw.
Tell me what you saw.
Close your eyes.