Orphanage in the rain,
Empty opera house with its light dimmed,
Thieves market closed for the day,
O evening sky with your cloudy tableaus!
Incurable romantic marrying eternal grumblers.
Life haunted by its more beautiful sister life—
Always, always ... We had nothing
But words. Someone rising to eloquence
After a funeral, or in the naked arms of a woman
Who has her head averted because she's crying,
And doesn't know why. A hairline fracture of the soul
Because of the way light falls on these bare trees and bushes.
Sea-blackened rocks inscrutable as chess players...
One spoke to them of words failing...
Of great works and little faith, of blues in each bite of bread.
Above the clouds the firm No went on pacing.
The woman had a tiny smile and an open umbrella,
Since now it had started to rain in a whisper,
The kind of rain that must've whispered in some other life
Of which we know nothing anymore except
That someone kept watching it come down softly,
Already soot-colored to make them think of
Serious children at play, and of balls of lint in a dark corner
Like wigs, fright wigs for the infinite.
No comments:
Post a Comment