I think that woman is the most profound
Of all the creatures.
Hers, the love my heart found
The more I examined her rural features
As she was examining mine—
In sweetest, cunning secrecy,
With careless, smiling modesty.
How can my description convince the wise
No beauty equals hers—the beauty of her love for me in a beautiful woman’s eyes?
How do I describe her passionate fire
Without describing my desire,
And her desire, which makes her eyes unique,
So that my desire describing her desire cannot possibly speak?
Tell me what I am supposed to say.
She talks. She is beautiful. She walks away.
There is no woman, no star,
Whose light cannot reach me.
The universe is made of something
Which is nothing, which is far,
And whose light is the light
Which shows me a small light in the darkness of a car.
