The Shape of a corner
I would like to start by sharing a quote from the French Symbolist poet Stephane Mallarme.
“To name an object is to supress three – fourths of the enjoyment of the poem, which is composed of the pleasure of guessing little by little; to suggest, there is the dream”
I woke up with you in my arms. A small drawing. The light was low and cold. If there was time to dream, perhaps it is now.
Beneath the sidewalk the stars.
We walked through those streets long and hard. Glistening in late night murmurs, picking up papers walking to work; drinking coffee to fast. Too much, too hard.
It was like a prickling, pickling riddle.
For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.
She came to me, with stories of the dessert, the ocean, of sailing and long since lost dreams of childhood.
Nostalgia seeped through us, a yearning for the sea. For space, for time.
We reached up. We wanted to excavate the sky.
I think that, I don’t know if it’s the time, the age we’re in now, my own age….there is very little Sanctuary. There is no safety, there is no home. None of these things do I have, now. And I am looking for it.
Where will we meet, when we lay the world to rest.
Is there a place.
Something that cnojors the small sun in the villi. Sun in the temple. Mandira.
All those folded Crimson wings.
“US led air strikes in northern Syria have failed to interrupt the advance of Islamic state fighters, closing in on a key city on the Turkish border, raising questions about the Western strategy for defeating the Jihadi movement.
Almost two weeks after the pentagon extended its aerial campaign from Iraq to neirghbouring Syria, in an attempt to take on Isis militants in their desert strongholds, Kurdish fighters said the bombing campaign was having little impact in driving them back”
You in my arms.
Sanctuary. A listless whistle ran through the trees. What did you say?
To be still. As still as contentment. It is not possible. Seeds break up the sidewalk; pushing through small veins of ferocity.
When the stillness comes, when the stillness comes; is it a better day?
There is a lot of news today. Yesterday, tomorrow, today. Tomorrow, yesterday, yesterday, today. This month, last month. Two weeks. Meet me tomorrow. Yesterday, tomorrow, today. Mett me at 5? Meet me at 6.
Yesterday, tomorrow, today.
What did you say?
Sanctuary. When the stillness comes. Is it a better day? Do you have a safe space. Something that is your own. Seeds break through the sidewalk; roots a thousand feet deep.
You are radiating some sort of sacred White light.
We danced hard. Eyes up to the sky. hips digging slowly into the ground. Softly.Softly.
The light breaks through the fine stained curtains.
Are we to be free?