Tattered letter (a clavi-chord fugue)

prose poem

Once I kept in my palm a rough fruit seed waiting for that crumb of time to spring out mirrored in future waters. Just looking in your eyes stones began to tremble, crevices of eternity appeared. You looked calm as a soft song yet troubled like embers bitter heat. And I looked again, suddenly sloping on melting ice, winds started to whisper as if to break the circle of night. You were a snowflake floating on my breath. I would have wanted you to define me, to call me, because I was like a child without name, that seed would have grown into a winged tree, a moment escaping clockwise order.

Then shadows weighed over my eyes and my hopes sparkled like a flint steel, dissolving at once. Peaceful rains settled dark rings over a transparent, motionless desert. I stopped seeing you, dreams hid in the air and inside rocks, that seed closed its shell. Cool and gentle, ethereal emptiness shaped a statue within myself.

Gradually even the shadows disappeared like dripping arpeggios. Daily questions covered everything with snow. But the trace of difficult steps led to an obstinate memory trapping me in a white silence. Your faraway call was still striking me like the blood forgetting its way until summer tears ended their warm whirl in a frozen sea. I forgot you, the light between us left a feeble abandon gesture through a locked window wing.

And when another morning opened it, I saw at a far distance that first moment enchained by my surprise and your smile. It was a clear blue sky.