What has not passed you

What has not passed you.

You seek in me the unannounced and your eyes exhale a circular plea.
The persistent fog of that which has not pierced you
Corrupt your clean certainty.

You seek in me what hurts,
That wild trait that hurts to touch.
The incommunicable, which subsists
anesthetized
By the beautiful wrapping and the plastic stars.

What you catch in the middle of the smoke
If you get the exact hunter blow.
What the indomitable grid expels
of a dark and brief sea.

You seek the matter pulsating and elusive.
And finally sweating
shaken by chaos
you give yourself
to that which has no name.