Afternoon has been static,
Particles frozen, in the glance of existence.
Fly makes no sound,
Sunbeam cease to defuse.
As if no future is coming,
That universe is the end itself,
“To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free –“
Whispering into my wicked bones, like fairy slips through lichen and moss.
Lie on the floor awaiting to be taken,
I smiled as if this corps would be still for ever.
How free it is, I know exactly.
Yet I miss the excitement of the spring earth,
That chill of a summer refrigerator,
Calling me is the voice of a country singer.
Now that I think,
Even the odor from the back alley of Parc Avenue is somehow familiar. Not only that,
I wonder what it feels like when my son pees on my arm,
How painful it would be, to see my daughter falling on the ground,
How wonderful it is, to see an enfant growing into an adult.
And I want especially,
To hear you read Tulips to me,
So much joy awaiting,
So many miracles pounding.
That I have to wake up, into this dreamy reality.