Iris

Dizzy, elated, we are in each other’s arms. — Yellow and violet, run into each other, in the space of a marble — the sky, open, so open, milky crystal. And the earth, open, so open, blue crystal. Fused together. The turquoise marble turns, rolls, dizzy and elated, over the lines of borders. From the stone bed of the cave to the warm, soft mattress; from hollow, livid bellies to a clean navel like a diamond setting on a belt of white silk... So where was it? Where is your border? And where is my border? Where is the end of my lips, the beginning of your lips? Where is the end of our slipping tongues — always thirsty — in each other’s mouths? End or beginning? Always beginning... Soft, caressing hands dance on the spine. Vertebra by vertebra, our bones, our skin, and all our veins clinging together, are each other’s continuation, endless... — Your veins have sewn up the wound of my heart; and your gaze, with blue ears of grain, has filled the valleys of my dry horizon — where is the border between the flowing air and the iris? A verdant stem turns, dances in the womb of the air; fertile pollen clings to the ground of the air: yellow, violet, orange. Where is the distance between this and that in the rainbow marble? The miracle of mingling! There is no border, there never was a border between summit and valley. We are each other’s continuation, we, joined together. An iris flower blossomed in the womb of the air. A violet wave poured into a yellow body. Your summit! My valley! Dizzy and elated in each other’s arms in our transparent marble, oh! My iris...