When I enter your house,
disturbing the silence of your nocturnal flowers,
and feel myself embraced
with the hopeful intimacy of a breadth about to be exhaled,
I am a star of the universe,
delicately poised on your crown of eternal solitude…
and yet there is something disquieting here.
Are you body or spirit, life or death?
There are no windows in this house!
I need to peer beyond these walls!
It is a question of perspective;
of what provokes the rustle of a butterfly's wings,
or the creak in this chair in which I sit;
and how they will be preserved in the photographic memory of the universe…
Here I am, luminous, silent, lonely like you,
but oh so spiritually aware of our own tragedy!
Sleep. All I need is sleep…
© 2004 Salvatore Poeta
