I hunt for a sign of you in all the others,
in the rapid undulant river of women,
braids, shyly sinking eyes,
light step that slices, sailing through the foam.
Suddenly I think I can make out your nails--
oblong, quick, nieces of a cherry--:
then it's your hair that passes by, and I think
I see your image, a bonfire, burning in the water.
I searched, but no one else had your rhythms,
your light, the shady day you brought from the forest;
nobody had your tiny ears.
You are whole--exact--and everything you are is one,
and so I go along, with you I float along, loving
a wide Mississippi toward a feminine sea.