Who is going to miss you
as the eyebrow-shaped moon hangs in the immense night sky
like a kite, tailless and stringless, and it regards drunkenly
the dark trees that canopy themselves and all those that lie beneath them
in the northern country where you sleep soundly
in the form of a riderless boat
delivering yourself from a small bay to a vast one called eternity?
Who among the sleepless ones will make water cry, drowning out the snoring,
rowing upstream to you as if toward dawn in the waning moon?
Whom can your dreams deliver
when your body is given to an embrace?
There will always be a pair of hands that write your name over and over
till a relief is made into the daily calendar, but the eyes know
there is nothing behind the words, except the ruts.
June 29-30, 2008