the
river...yes...if it hadn't rained maybe...
doors
constructed shapes
you me walking
standing
exchanging coins for fruit
you speak i
walking waiting crossing
up museum steps
down
carrying fruit
a book from a museum
sitting sideways
doors slide
figures enter exit
your breath mine theirs
your words mine theirs
my silence yours
a room
your shoes mine
a table
fruit near a bowl
a book
your words mine
you turn pages i
i sleep
you
the shoes were a little tight at the heel...the coat though...
white grass
ice on a red gate
these borrowed shoes
this borrowed coat
a man plays an accordion
a woman sings
no one sings:
a wind through branches
what would she sing
she'd sing of patterns on water when air moves
juniper berries in a stolen bowl
stone stairs yellow arcades
rushes in half light bending where a stream curves
curving where a stream bends
watermelons
a blue fish
what would she wear in a white field
her sister's gloves
where would she stand
near reaching thorn
the accordion player in red boots
a head-dress of hornets and bone
a fire of sticks and insect wings
she he sharing matzos and fried fish
if she he asked:
why borrow a coat
why borrow shoes
why touch ice on a red gate
why walk in a white field
to see if there are croci
and 2 voices the other side of glass discussing courgettes...
she speaks
he leans toward
a table between she he
she talks of oil lamps
processions
she reaches opens a window
voices
she speaks
he sees her face
if she buried her shoes
if she burned violets
she talks of a small green boat
a street in bavaria
she he sit in cool air
books on the floor
if she baptized fish
if she danced with a calf
he speaks
she leans toward
she he
words
she reaches
closes the window
if she
he picks up books from the floor
her skin on his palms
if you hear shoes on gravel...don't let stems move...
walking where geese have walked
in air where sparrows have flown
where faces have breathed
blue eggs have fallen through this air
who may have sat here
inside tall grass at 2am
a pine cone lifted from grass to skin
dropped into a lake
snails on stone
reeds in mist
circles on water
a shrew running into thorn
the city is near
figures behind glass
amber light
words
a blue room
a locked door
an african bowl
books near a bed
a red chair
across the lake a woman ties her hair to a branch
hangs by her hair
makes shapes with her hands
speaks
sleeping birds remain undisturbed
she reaches unties her hair
kneels at the edge of the lake
makes shapes with her hands
she stands curves her body
folds her body into air
her shadow across these feet
across cocoons on a stem
kneel look into water
whose face reflecting
how many faces
city shapes lighten
in a blue room
objects emerge from dark
the earth here is damp
easily moulded
shape a pine cone
a face
an odalisque
write a prayer with flesh
Copyright © 2002 Richard Zola