My head is a cloud on the face of the lake;
the wind
is peaceful.
Mountains and mountain shadows,
spots of grey and light,
travel over the mirror of water.
Spots of, shadows of faces,
a long
long procession.
Faces that have been
will always be
here within here within here:
on the shore of an eye the dead gather
to bathe
to rise
and be.
My face on the face of a lake,
ripples on the face of ripples:
Troy, Jerusalem, Alexandria, Rome
rise and fall
fall and rise.
Smoke still rises from city walls,
swords still glitter at dusk,
I rise and fall, fall and rise.
Faces that will be always have been;
grey spots in the mirror of water.
Ohrid Lake, Aug. 30, 2003