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I write of your eyes
the words melt into water
I drink the text
poisoned, I wander the alleyways
strange passers-by become poisoned
and beautiful
your beauty
embraces a deranged child
and walk her in the streets
I paint you with that child in your arms
on the coffin of words.
you walk
the distance between your barefeet and the earth
catches fire.
from my mother-tongue
I spread out a carpet under your feet
to dance on.
watching you
I scatter a poem of ashes
in my voice.
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1
the stairs of 2 O'clock live in eternity at 2 O'clock
the streets of 3 at 3
the metal tea cup and the scrap chair at 4.
I am afraid of the eternity of things.
no one's there to receive my memory
this is our last meeting, or I have never met you before
you brought your lips close, or moved them back
your scarf is green, or violet
you move away from the things
and they become eternal in me
I sit on the same stairs even when I am in another city
I drink from the same tea cup even when I hold a coffee cup
I carry myself on the same wheel chair
in the car, in my bed, in the plane
the things stick to the clock hands
I am addicted to my eternity
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