Sparks, Scars

Our silences, like sparks -
they illuminate tenderness
we've preserved deep,
deep inside our hearts.
Like the sun dizzying the edges
of an old sculpture,
like the night replacing all colours,
like a bird's wings,
brushing deadness away from skies -
his eyes
touch me, and I,
turn a wave.

My evening, the mistress of gold,
trembles at the thought
of having been told
that scars (stars) will replace her jewels.