She makes signs

Posted: June 14, 2014 in Poems in English
Tags: ,

There is hardly an end to the depth of the slime. One can swim for a while, can float for a while, jump around like a fly in the jar, but in the end understand that the jar is in a jug. The density of water draws arabesques around our bodies. The sun has hidden behind the mountains of the seabed and envelops Jordan in a bright red aura. Floating up and down like the pin of a seismograph is an exercise which breaks the horizontal columns of communication, while keeping them from drowning and later they rearrange freely. Reclining on the divan or sitting cross legged on the tabourette we talk the afternoon away. Privileged view point from the balcony – all the northern part of the sea and our neighbours and cousins.

 

There is hardly anything to says in this placid day: the hour has evaporated, the sky has fused with the desert, the barren creeks might well be hiding a flood in the horizon, nothing would move this thought: it is nice to be stuck in the present. And I open my lungs wide and spread my neurons across the globe, to perceive everything, to digest the world, to bear it all within my aura.  It is nice to be absent-minded in the proximity of you.

 

Again, unadvertedly, the shadows grow. She makes signs in the slime, in the air.

 

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