Big
________________
The moon is so big tonight. And I have no aquarels
to describe it. The sky does not come out well in charcoal - it is a January
sky in icy colours. The moon is so big. It hangs over us like an oxidised
magnesium plate, burning, glowing, ripe with luminisence. It is embedded
in blue snow. The blue that always eludes me, the blue closest to my heart.
True Blue. As it can only be at dusk in January. All around me the black
trees stretch out their fingertips to try to catch it. But it evades them
too. Yet they are persistent, tilting slowly their twisted bodies from
side to side, back and forth with the wind. They know that their time will
come, when their green leaves will cover up the sky - and the sky will
be faded, as if in hiding.
But there is no mask now,
and the moon is swelling with pleasure. My ink cannot reflect it. And I
am filled up with longing, pulsating over my inner brims until I am flooded
- I stand up and throw open the window; those futile glass walls will not
keep us apart! The cold sweeps over me, but it does not matter, I have
already been overwhelmed by another force - too strong to be outworn even
by the chilly air.
I place myself on the
windowsill, my bare legs dangling down the house wall, my nipples stiff
with cold under my thin linen vest, and I reach out. I let go. My inner
self swells out of me, leaving my eyes empty and my body fixed. I want
to go, I need to go, I grow and grow while rising through the hemisphere
whispering with softened words, words that echo across the vast plains
of Asia, words that palpitate inside dreams, words as deep as the oceans,
as lush as the rain forests:
- I want you.
*
The moon is so big tonight. And I have no aquarels
to describe it.
back to crocus.