caravaggio
1
uma pinta é um ponto
linhas unem-se uma a outra
aparece o mapa do corpo
essas pequenas pintas pretas transbordarão
em profundo diamante
2
desembarcar nesse porto de sonho
sem manhãs nem nada mais
portos sem ontem
de sombras e senhores sem corpo
porto oco
3
olha-se no espelho a morte
e nada vê pois paisagem infinita
olho no olho me vejo em osso
retina colada à pele reflexiva
J
dR
escher
Mirror
Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, just truthful -
The eye of a little god, four cournered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
