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