Woman, or Lady of the Branches

WOMAN- if I said your body
was endless, would you
open like a flower, legs apart,
half-dead, with a whisper
on your kisses, saying 'my love,
my love, all is yours
and nothing more, only you,
my love, as the sun belongs
to something else, as the moon
belongs to something more, two
broken stars, rainbows
from its atmosphere

WOMAN- if I said your climate
was the earth, if birds flew
from the depths of your unfathomable
tomb, singing their morning songs
as if they had come from the trees,
branches of your womb- if your past
was my past, entwined like
two berries on a suppressing bush,
the storms, at noon, half-dead,
to scream like a flower
that is only heard by the wind,
to have a voice with no one
to hear it, to love but not
be loved in return, if seeing you again
would make my kisses sharp-or
the sun would burst and spill over
on your breasts-if all these things,
overgrown with the negligence of time,
like tall, relentless grass
covering the tomb in which
I held your fruit
and brought the first candle
to light its chambers-if your sticky wet undercurrents
demand to have victims-or
the map of your world becomes
like a statue, and you fear
that it will collapse, my darling,
whisper, say it all,
I will hear you in my own resounding tomb.