Eye, by Krisjanis Mezulis
Birdcatcher, the birds you want are thirsty,
so you open the wine vat and let the fragrance draw us.
This is the wine the magi brought as a gift,
and the wine musk that led them.
There are certain night-wanderers
that you especially want. Not the drunkards,
and not the ones who just carry cups to others.
This is how it is to come near you.
A wave of light builds in the black pupil
of the eye. The old become young.
The opening lines of the Qur'an open still more.
Inside every human chest is a hand, but it has nothing
to write with. Love moves further in where
language turns to fresh cream on the tongue.
Every accident, and the essence of every being,
is a bud, a blanket
tucked into a cradle, a closed mouth.
All these buds will blossom.
In that moment you will know what your grief was,
and how the seed you planted has been miraculously growing.
