There is a light that insists on my way
and it is the custom to take me by your star
and the nerve to boot
rennet my defenses.

The courage to open the cell
and throw away my keys
through the sewers,

where they fall
the darkest commandments,
the wooded sediments
that cloud and clog the eyes.

False compasses of safe transit,
conventions as firm as rocks,
so useless they stink.

If for something I resign good love
is the courage to breathe the fresh breeze,
the offering to redeem with your smile.

The simple gift of your eyes.