June 15, 2011 § Leave a comment
From my box of nostalgia and a long lost admirer. Sorry, I can’t help myself … In praise of literacy:
The Longing of Things
When I come home alone
I sense all things longing
cups and spoons for caresses of your lips
bed and blankets for the form of your body
I hear the water dreaming
of running down your skin
while the radio evokes you
in songs of saudade
The lights complain: They want to make visible your beauty
That the mirror – tired of me – is impatient to reflect
I sense the air eager to transmit your words and laughing
even the windows look sad – “Where is the gaze of her eyes?”
the words in my books ask: “When will she come back to read us?”
Days, hours, and minutes implore me to help them run faster.
If they miss you – how do you think I feel?
Only my fingers are happy: They can write you love poems.
(even if they aren’t as good yet as September Cohen’s)