A MIRROR FOR THE CLOUDS 

Wings;
but they are made of wax .
And the rain cascading
is no rain,
but ships for tears.

A MIRROR FOR THE 20th CENTURY

child's face.
A book
inscribed on the entrails of a crow.
A monster drawing close,
holding a flower.
A rock
breathing in the lungs of a madman.
This is,
this is the twentieth century.

A MIRROR FOR THE ADORING BODY

Every day
the adoring body melts in the air,
becomes a fragrance;
it revolves, summoning every fragrance
to come to its bed,
enshroud its dreams,
dissolve as incense
and as incense return.

Its first verses are a child's torment
lost in the whirlpool of bridges,
knowing neither how to stay
in the water, nor how to cross.

A MIRROR FOR THE WITNESS

When the spears came to rest in the dying gasp of Husain,
and adorned themselves with the body of Husain,
and the horses trampled every pore in the body of Husain,
and plundered and despoiled
were the garments of Husain,

I saw every stone leaning tenderly over Husain,
I saw every flower sleeping on the shoulder of Husain,
I saw every river
walking in the funeral of Husain.