In you I see dirty, in you I count stars

"Everything on the earth bristled, the bramble / pricked and the green thread / nibbled away, the petal fell, falling / until the only flower was the falling itself. / Water is another matter, / has no direction but its own bright grace, / runs through all imaginable colors, / takes limpid lessons / from stone, / and in those functionings plays out / the unrealized ambitions of the foam." (Water by Pablo Neruda)