If you dared to cover my open eyes with your palms,
I would see Venus’ hill on your hand and start
climbing it to see for myself what is on the other side.
This simple flight from death would be similar
to removing the pillow from the head to the feet.
The arc would get stranded on the clearance,
a box made from only one piece of ice on a gentle,
warm loft. The suddenly made appearance
would include a change of hair color and gender,
releasing the pairs of various false animal species,
as wonderful as flamingos with their feet so tender,
half grown together with the tips of willow branches
and those little artificial people that you so terribly fear,
joined mouth to mouth, so their breath would not disappear.