Poezja

I love you in poverty of 
words; 
when you are not seeking 
anything. 
 
A dusky strength, self- 
deprecating, 
holding forth the virtues of 
self-denial. 
 
What was the awareness of 
a blind? 
Of shadows of migrating birds 
in moonlight? 
 
Hold my extended arm. May 
be you can fall, 
looking without eyes in the depth 
of the sea.