You walk up from the river br you float down my eyes― br br do what you like, white strap-lines br on the clove shade of your shoulders. br br The moon comes up on br the burnt-looking horizon, br br you walk up from the river, br a river of yourself― you float br down my eyes. br br I stare over the split br stone cliff, the donkey standing br on the olive-shaded hill-it's all br br the same― you float br down my eyes― I look away― br you float down my eyes. br br Do what you like, br on the hillside of oregano, br in the field of short sunflowers, br br the slow look on your face, br the slow wind moving br the blue dust down the fig skins, br br do what you like― you don't know br how good you are, twin hills of moss br your eyes come near, out of sleep, br br you don't know, you lay your head br back on the bedroll br and look up at me like br we've been together br for twenty years― I take br the towel away from your body, br br your clove shade― you br float down my eyes― I drag br your throat slow with my hair, br the shadows make the pine needles br br look soft, split stone cliff, br the slow waves softening br the light below them, br the river giving up br what it owns to the sea.