BEFORE I SAW the great beauty
Of your eyes barely opening –
What childhood had awoken from dreaming?
What longing was drowned in its infancy?
As wandering in sleep: as a punch – in the teeth?
In the waters of memory – as comfort?
Down to childhood’s roots – as a fissure reopening the ground –
As a caesura sets apart this stanza’s murmured lament?
Before looking your eyes enclose
Such beauty, memory’s desire,
The will-o’-the-wisp of sight, these fireworks –
Your words ignite.