Rita And The Rifle

Between Rita and my eyes There is a rifle And whoever knows Rita Kneels and prays To the divinity in those honey-colored eyes. And I kissed Rita When she was young And I remember how she approached And how my arm covered the loveliest of braids. And I remember Rita The way a sparrow remembers its stream Ah, Rita Between us there are a million sparrows and images And many a rendezvous Fired at by a rifle. Rita's name was a feast in my mouth Rita's body was a wedding in my blood And I was lost in Rita for two years And for two years she slept on my arm And we made promises Over the most beautiful of cups And we burned in the wine of our lips And we were born again Ah, Rita! What before this rifle could have turned my eyes from yours Except a nap or two or honey-colored clouds? Once upon a time Oh, the silence of dusk In the morning my moon migrated to a far place Towards those honey-colored eyes And the city swept away all the singers And Rita. Between Rita and my eyes— A rifle.