fish are sleeping (with eyes wide open)
while a universe stretches awake and limitless
and the pond is a mirror still unbroken
of us on a glittering canvas

the sounds of distant drumbeats
disturb the whisper of the trees
but nothing living dares to break
the spell of your dark eyes

we speak (with eyes wide open) in wisps
of cloud too soft to see or touch
and even what we leave unspoken
the still pond seems to read to us:

a poem made of silent glances
that a thousand pages cannot express
the beauty of the one word
spoken by our hearts.


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