~19 May 2015~
Flowers wither and people die.
And if life desires to scatter us across the world,
I hope it’ll be gentle and let me keep untouched
the memory of your eyes illuminated by yellow post lamps
in parking lots,
like Van Gogh’s paintings,
melting like Dali’s.
And if I find myself many years from now
in a job I hate,
a cat that looks like a cow
meowing at me from the other side
of a one-bedroom apartment,
I hope I don’t hate the memory
of your sarcastic laughter or
the way our hands found each other,
fingers interlacing like gentle rattlesnakes,
their noisemakers imitating the beat
of my speeding heart.
And if the geography of our mind and bodies
can not compete with the geography of the world,
I hope we remember fondly archeological expeditions
taken in the unexplored land of our psyche.
Cracked open chest cavities,
walking hand in hand,
observing (me, you) like museum expositions.
Look, but don’t touch. (Don’t fix.)
And if in two, or twenty, or forty years
you realize that the way my hand
would slap your skin,
wherever it caught you,
whenever I was animatedly explaining anything,
is a lot more important than the way
our words may slap each other
when we utter that last goodbye.
I hope you think of me fondly and
with a smile roll your lamp post eyes.
Because I’m aware things expire,
like dish soap,
us tangled in a web of honesty
with silent rattlesnake fingers.
But I say it’s okay.
Because “right now” can last forever,
and indeed it does.
Now stretches infinitely and later becomes then.
And now is enough for now
and will be enough for then.
Lista de imágenes:
1-2.Carl Kleiner and Evelina Kleiner, Avios.