Causa Artis 3
I could take your words
said the air
not their meaning though.
The light not exactly light
not exactly bright
sways in irregular patterns upon the wall.
You could easily describe them now.
You are convinced
(it has convinced you)
the demons which run across the paper
– stunning your thought cheekily –
come from a benevolent hand
and you have taught your flushed forehead
that this will come
looking – with eyelids shut underneath the gaze –
at the empty space in you
demanding space from the empty space within you
asking for a body.
The wind weaves nothing from nothingness – it is we who weave
Warm afternoon raindrops flood the window
Leaves stir sluggishly asking for: change
signaling: the incarnation
– the exact right moment –
between the time of then and the time of now
finally proves sufficient
something that resembles
(in the sudden rain)
– alibi for this messy noise –
it is made from words
Translation from the Greek