says the speaker
the wind says
the wolf howls
and chases the “thump” carried by the “swoosh”
over motorway valleys, within depths of alleys
and for longer and then some
then backtracks, sniffing his own footprints and urine
carried by the same wind
and finds nothing, no beginning of his harrowing journey
On a mountain’s foothill, just before autmn,
Fervent sun and scents concealed in the air,
The three of us were laying on our backs, gazing in the sky,
Three bodies bearing long years,
Bodies that have lost their vigor.
The warmth of the earth was benign
The waning acacia trees were not against us-
And that blue radiance that carries one’s sight pristinely to the truth,
And even furthermore, beyond it,
Where it becomes overshadowed by grey spots.
We were utterly in it,
Detached from the weight that drags us on the ground-
Following a violet sliver to its own infinity,
That promises to untangle everything
About the effervescent and overly experienced wisdom of a child.
The navel between us grew thinner and snapped, painlessly,
And we were gently nudged to the front of a secret court,
Left to the benevolence of the sun that inaugures autmn,
That understands everyone,
Then we exchanged two, three, simple words,
Uttered effortlessly, words that bring one back on the ground,
And we were delighted
Because we could pat the back of this foothill with our palms.
When we descended, the sun went on to set,
And all the windows in the town beneath us had clear eyes,
And full of hope, we walked on the path lightly,
Certain that we are bringing goodness down there-
Like once before, when we were young dreamers.