the grey of your absences, the grey of the mind that recollects. the primordial pulse of red flowering open for you a dream, a mirror broken but not yet fallen. Lincoln green, and I shall wear scarlet red, you said.
the lead strikes up, sparks. lead from deep quarry, the words stilled in the vertical of the pencil, crouched, tentative like an animal, like the names for you i have in my heart.
i wake from some profound sleep, my mouth dry, your face against my face. every inch of the glass is filled with sunlight so that there are no more distinctions between outside and inside. all of the cupboard doors are flung open, have been like that throughout the night, like those wide, accusing eyes of yours. everything points to a complete and naked revelation of your soul. when it was the openness of your body that reminded me of the red and the green.
2 comments:
is a "complete and naked revelation of the soul" possible? and if yes, would it be something to wish for? and wouldn't such revelation pass _through_ the body, as well?
i don't know...
(but i know i am breathless reading you)
I don't know, Roxana. Yes, possibly, but not in this world. But, no, it is not something we would wish for in any case, I suspect. I think we prefer the light & shade, the veiling & unveiling, the dappled, the colours and the grey. no?
Yes, what revelation there is always passes through the world: body and time, words and other people, the named and the nameless (gosh, this _really_ is beginning to sound pretentious! ;-)). I guess what remains, though, is a *longing* for that pure moment, when the windows are no more.
the 'red and the green' -if I remember correctly-has something to do with 'marriage'.
Breathless? A question of grammar? I'll add more semi-colons and commas next time.
Take care,
K.
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