My eye is now dry.
Once so wet and bright
like the gleaming golden light
flying high across the dry sky
brighter than the brightest bright.
I said to my eye:
«What’s the matter with you?
You used to be one on one
with every hot and dry sun
and every flat and dry universe spoken
like one verse in dry reverse.
You no longer fly or even try to try».
«what’s the matter with dry you is the matter with dry I!»,
said my angry, never-crying eye
and spoke to me no longer and no dry more of all the things that passed so long ago before the dry day when the dry future dryly closed its darkening door.