(picture by Anselm Kiefer, "Schwarze Flocken", 2006)

a ray of path,
until I reach the step of men

solemn, at times
other times with that scream
of one who cries before the landscape,
the red moment of the destruction
of the sun

other times, yet, more accelerated
as if time depended on the
human condition

at times, slow and crawling,
with no fixed or lingering glances,
with no passion,
kissing the body and writing
of longings upon the door-jamb.

other times, carrying the wood
to the house across the road,
thinking of nothing beyond the winter
and the very destruction of things,
as impermanent as your smile.

perhaps the river is the limit between two
bodies and the path is always made of
fire.

I do not want you simply in a photo,
but bent over the sun,
embracing the verse.

© 2006 Jorge R. Vicente – all rights reserved