I couldn't rename something longer, those times kneeling down. The hand has left a stain, the city without a hangman. I came here to capture the freshness of the moment. And they despised them of another brethren. It's only a piece of abandoned scaffolding, blood and hair stuck to one side. You removed the sentence because it had no relevance, but the sentence hung around for a lifetime, tingling in the palms of your hands. No one believed you, stroking grey hair. The photo was taken on the eve of war, eyes calm and confident. The blow arrived unseen. One side of the face was visible through the dark pane. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman close enough to touch.
Only one island among others. Beyond the thin stream, where footprints vanished, nobody noticed you waiting, particularly at night. The string of notes was bent to your desire, dancing just below the surface, marking your progress, although at that time invisible. I leaned over your lips. It seemed an odd miracle that my feet were moving, taking me from one side of the road to the other.
From a distance the trees look joined together. The hills exist as an etching, not yet awake. He seems to have been standing there all night. It's the first time you've smiled at him, though you?ve seen him before. Crushed leaves by the track, the moment of freedom when you board the train. A door slides open, shuts again. A man sits opposite you. You dare not look up into his face. Empty rooms of abandoned houses, a curtain fluttering in a smashed window. You?ll need to get milk and bread. He gets up from his seat when you do.
You pick up where the thread left off, enter a landscape the people around you are too busy to see. Time to reclaim, if it is a question of reclaiming at all. What does 'fond of' mean in this context, where you are dazzled by sunlight? They appear from nowhere, pieces of a puzzle that won?t fit, but beautiful as fragments. It would be a mistake to wait at this point. You have to go on, try to reach 100, a destiny that would weigh on your conscience if you hadn?t slipped around the corner into the next street.
edits Shadow Train. He
poetry, fiction and reviews, as translator. His last collection
was Rescue (2002). Work has recently appeared in Dream Catcher,
Great Works, Green Integer Review, Litter, PN Review, Poetry
Nottingham, and Stride Magazine. Future plans for publication
include a book of prose poems and a tranlsation of Pierre Reverdy's Le Voleur de Talan.