You shed your eyes during autumn
and the leafs sprout as honey colored
as your gaze used to be.
And even though it’s still caring,
what you see has also changed.
The reverbearance of the stone
that fell so long ago into the void
left by all the water you cried,
You feel now
as steady as cooked clay
as dry as wood fire
as fresh as spring wind
with a renewed love
for the image that looks back
from across the mirror.