When tears flow, they wipe them with a cloth. When blood flows, they run up with a sponge, They will not rush with honest hands till God dries it with a thunder flash.

What hope can be kept alive,
what pure premonition,
what irrevocable kiss sunk in our hearts,
acknowledging the roots of need -
   and the intelligence
self-confident and smooth on always
   muddied waters ?

What live,
   quick wings of a new dream angel
lock in my sleeping shoulders for ever...