Unremarkably, he put the glass of plain water on the table. The refraction of light at this hour of the day moved his heart an inch. The clarity of light depending on the weight of the world. He saw a fetching woman wearing all black with a set of golden badges or oblong medals on her breast, shining with honour. He thought to himself: "I must get this for my wife".
She said: undress my gold. The words as ancient as time, as human history itself, a reflection of some haunting, archaic desire brought to the surface.
The swirling dust is an irritant at this time of the year, filling out the waiting rooms in clinics with children whooping and sniveling. But it also lets us see the light, filtering down in streams through the boughs of the trees, or like columns made up of golden chains of morse code...
With gold there is no "or like", no space for metaphors or tryouts. She said, look my way...
]
]
]
burn
]
]
]
A fragment of a sentence, a line unblurred, I turned my head ever so slightly to pick them up. There is no seeing clearly, no chance of seeing without gentleness. If the eye only sees similars, then what of the human heart? What field of vision lies open, what golden state must be reached before the eye is dazzled, the heart stilled?
Gold, the absolute of time, the standard of consistency, universality, the moment when nothing is left to see or undress. Gold, the thing that makes all exchanges possible, that allows things to flow. The fleetingness of our lives and loves arrested, locked in the certain gaze, of trust; the voice free, our words measured soundly, leaving winter behind, finding south, Byzantium, Constantinople, the nameless.
She said: undress my gold. The words as ancient as time, as human history itself, a reflection of some haunting, archaic desire brought to the surface.
The swirling dust is an irritant at this time of the year, filling out the waiting rooms in clinics with children whooping and sniveling. But it also lets us see the light, filtering down in streams through the boughs of the trees, or like columns made up of golden chains of morse code...
With gold there is no "or like", no space for metaphors or tryouts. She said, look my way...
]
]
]
burn
]
]
]
A fragment of a sentence, a line unblurred, I turned my head ever so slightly to pick them up. There is no seeing clearly, no chance of seeing without gentleness. If the eye only sees similars, then what of the human heart? What field of vision lies open, what golden state must be reached before the eye is dazzled, the heart stilled?
Gold, the absolute of time, the standard of consistency, universality, the moment when nothing is left to see or undress. Gold, the thing that makes all exchanges possible, that allows things to flow. The fleetingness of our lives and loves arrested, locked in the certain gaze, of trust; the voice free, our words measured soundly, leaving winter behind, finding south, Byzantium, Constantinople, the nameless.
No comments:
Post a Comment