The scent of orange blossom from my skin.
I am at once water and wind,
What washes away the shoreline houses
And causes sailors and natives alike
From the eye of the wave
Asks my name. I ignore it.
Moving, I turn the iris patch:
They chart my trail; they track me,
But cannot follow. I desire, rather,
To attend to my ascension.
My light, the white of blind eyes,
Radiates and purifies all who would behold it.