***
A painting
In which I would live forever,
A painting
That I, like a blind artist,
Learn to put in colours
By touch and memory.
When days pass by
I notice your face becoming blurrier.
I don’t leave my tower.
I’ve found a way other than vision
To visualise your body –
My hand memory.
Yes, my hands remember things
That my brain doesn’t,
unfortunately.
I write you in my mouth.
Word by word,
Before I put you on a canvas.
I collect your fragments:
Edit, arrange, and capture them
Like sea waters at night
Assemble the stars’ echos.
Sea and memory go side by side.
Sea does have scars,
Unpaintability of which
Is de facto obvious.
I draw your body in the kitchen
Where there are no knives,
Where no lucifer fire exists,
Where there is nothing to cook,
But where the sun fades
Every evening
In trembling windows,
Deep down into the books
Piled on a windowsill
Giving new life to life,
Where doorframes recall
The princess Marie José,
Who did afternoon tea dances –
Yes, here,
a painting in which I’d love to live forever.
