It is in the shelter of each other that people live.
— Irish Proverb —
denial…
we are everything in between…
Your hands are wonderful, especially when their holding brings forth such
honeysuckle… sucking… goodness.
That I might be muse for such outpourings baffles me.
The certainty that I might be something more than less still eludes me
like insights newly born and swaddled in words still half-formed.
That you might allow me as witness to speak on our behalf, here
illuminates my shortcomings
as scribe to all that is profound and simple.
(There, I see it: your back swathed in silence.)
We are never more than what the other decides
and yet, we remain always as whispers,
as Pleasure that cannot keep a secret for long
and so, we are compelled.
In this mystery, I see you.
In this, we are met.
And so, are we lost.
never the twain shall meet…
The moon, like you, is far away from me, but it’s our sole momento:
if you look and recall our past through it, we can be one mind.
– Saigo –
the couple…
They switch off the light and its white shade
glimmers for a moment before dissolving
like a tablet in a glass of darkness. Then up.
The hotel walls rise into the black sky.
The movements of love have settled, and they sleep
but their most secret thoughts meet as when
two colours meet and flow into each other
on the wet paper of a schoolboy’s painting.
It is dark and silent. But the town has pulled closer
tonight. With quenched windows. The houses have approached.
They stand close up in a throng, waiting,
a crowd whose faces have no expressions.
– Tomas Tranströmer –