Now that the night has passed and the fresnel light has broken in the objects around me become more visible like materialised impressions
Only the faint smell of coriander has no visible source, yet I long for it like the deer for water, the lover for his lost one
Not a sound in the garden of red leaves where intense heat and cold caressing wind mix like two lovers
And the tiny stars and sickle moon look as if they’re about to drop from their blue canvass
Onto the grass –apparently watered by tears floating in fogs, invisible when stepped into, –so as to give a faint glow to the concrete houses in the vicinity
Lit by the spirited fresnel lamps, day-time in portions
Lost one, my clothes are brown like quilted burlap sacks and my hair is like ashes, yet when I met you again (you shone a flash-light in my eyes) I could swear a reflection revealed a ghost clad in the fertile earth, adorned with celestial silver
Doors close, like the startled winking of eyes the windows shut for good, and within moments the generator growlings give way to the hushing of cicadas
With my arms stretched out, fumbling and swirling around the room like a dervish I look for the switch, only to grasp a hand with a perfume touch