She by Jean-Joseph Rabéarivelo

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whose eyes are prisms of sleep

and whose lids are heavy with dreams,

she whose feet are planted in the sea

and whose shiny hands appear

full of corals and blocks of shining salt.

She will put them in little heaps beside a misty gulf

and sell them to naked sailors

whose tongues have been cut out,

until the rain begins to fall.

Then she will disappear

and we shall only see

her hair spread by the wind

like a bunch of seaweed unravelling,

and perhaps some tasteless grains of salt.