Half a Pair of Shoes
the red poppy is in bloom
a leather shoe, just half a pair,
lies washed up on the seashore
laces still tied
as the poppy bends
and drops dew from its petals
the shoe sighs faintly
the flower shakes itself off
and the dirty shoe
starts to open
its eye
mostly likely
no landscapes are reflected
in that eye, deep as an old well,
memories
soak through
the poppy can only caress
she extends her leaves
toward the chest-like instep
—You cannot break me, the waves
cannot wash away
my worn-down heel
and my folds
they draw near
the gaze of the shoeless boy
going as far as the water’s edge
if the poppy gazed in
how clear that eye would be
a fire, like a small fish’s fin
at the bottom of an old well
—The sea cannot extinguish
the frank, pale flame
at the depths of my existence
for the sea too is an enormous eye
what light must the wave have emitted
in that moment
as it watered and rushed
surging in anger
far from shore
as the other shoe was swallowed
—Did the school of sardines
see the circle
of blue flame
drawn in my eyes?
the poppy is trembling again
no
it is the wind
the flower stands naked
dropping its petals
into the well
it is an umbilical cord
the tip of the shoelace
falling into the depths of the eye
where the boy tries to grab on
down it crawls