Thursday, 24 March 2016

poetic fragments op. 44

Paris, Tokyo

For a long, long time

The faces I can’t see,
The screams I can’t hear,
The wind I can’t feel.

I’m seeing but I can’t,
I’m hearing but I can’t,
I’m feeling but I can’t.

I have no eyes,
No ears,
No skin.

I’m a tiny stone.

The new moon
In the deep November
Is a jet-black void.
Now an invisible hawk
falling toward it.

The tiny stone:

A dry tongue.

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