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
                                 come again 
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 moment
– the exact right moment –
between the time of then and the time of now 
finally proves sufficient
something anonymous 
     opens
something that resembles
                 (in the sudden rain) 
                 with pleasure
consents involuntary

*

the poem
– alibi for this messy noise –
feels uneasy:
it is made from words
                   words alone.

Translation from the Greek