how can I stop looking at your picture?
you look so elegant.

your travailing face tells me
your words must be heartfelt.
maybe because debussy
softened my heart to say that,
a cypress dies
when it sees your tear-snuffing sleeve.

you are a town crieress,
brandishing the banner of rebellion. . . .

my hunger and thirst are gone,
I could survive on your image alone.