RADOVAN IVSICOn her lips, the day goes lost in the night.
She won’t turn around.
The ferns.
When she is thirsty, never does she awaken the water.
Silence at the border of the fearful forest.
Does she see the stars, or do the stars see her? That’s what troubles her.
She breathes.
She sleeps.
She listens.
What she hears in a shell isn’t enough for her.
She is in a creek.
Shadow with lovely teeth.
What she seems to confess to me and what she confides in me: if you close your
eyes, close them really and open yourself.
Don’t look before seeing.
Forget that you forget.
From memories, she keeps only the colors. She has never hidden anything else.
When she opens an eyelid, the butterflies burst upon the water, the red
caterpillars cover the forest.
But if the other eyelid opens...
Her smile pushes the flowers away. She knows what the flowers have forgotten.
Alone, she will never be completely naked.
Who is she?
—mary ann caws