Time Lapse Photography
I hear you come and go
in my dreams
and in cloudy camphor windows.
I hear you when I hear other steps
down the corridor, other voices
that aren’t yours. I recognize your worn
amaranth and feather hands,
here, on the shore of your wasteland.
We were to meet but you didn’t show up.
An ocean more powerful than night
seized you in its hands like a scattered flower.
Your photograph looks at me from where
you are not, from where I do not know you,
from where everything is a lie
you leave your eyes to look at me.
For reasons, I don’t seem to grasp
you’ve gone on a trip,
and it’s like you’ve never been here,
you’re just―so soon―one of those stories
some old maid told me in the kitchen.
The things that speak of you lie,
your last face lied to me as I leaned over it,
because it wasn’t you. I was embracing
that which the infinite removed
little by little.
Cartography of Dreams
By the time you arrive
I’ll possess night in my hands.
It carries the sleeplessness of the rooftops
in its peak, the distant humidity of the streets
that lack your footsteps.
I wear wings borrowed from tonight,
and retain the warmth of its arms
for when you come to sleep later.
Come: Tonight, we dine on the moon!
Like winter born
on one December afternoon,
I felt the urge to journey
all the way to silence
and listen to a breath of lights.
I dragged a heap of leaves
towards me. They stopped
before I swept them,
already waiting for me.
It was leaving memories lying
on the dark waters of sleep.
It was as if your voice came from the side
of my body, or the echo of your smile
inside some other ear,
those clear labyrinths open to voices.
It was the dying perfume of rain,
the distance pending caresses keep,
the smiles that never crossed each other,
and walking barefoot
where the sun won’t shine.
It’s that I know you won’t be there,
and I won’t untie myself
from the bones of your name.