In this way the day slipped
off the slope of the sun
and evening fell
like a collapsed wall.
Sky and earth: one embrace.
Windows of the sick,
lights on bridges, eyes of gendarmes,
and minarets blink now.
In the market place walls of darkness
are piled up at the doors
and the dark walls, stacked together,
collapse like tombstones from a fallen mountain.
The night ends with a delicate cloud
tinged pink, like a petal
lost in the darkness as day rushes forth.
(0 twilight red, color of
my life, that was a real goodbye we said.
Night has lost you. Day has lost you.
Memory alone brings you back.)
In this way night dies
with the sun springing to mount the sky
and the streets inhaling
the sounds of din,
braziers of light spilling
illumination to make shadows
piercing the stones.
O noon, you fill my heart
with fear and grief, showing
me more than I want to see.
Blessings on you, noontime blaze,
your light stings the eyes and
dims sight, changes houses
and people into solid cubes
of pastel stone.
And this is how the delicate color gray is born:
Weariness creeps into the veins
of the sun at day's end,
street noises dissipate
and are absorbed into the
soft contours of gray,
(the color of my days
not days lived in life,
but in contemplation).
Now dusk. Now a parting glance
from the sun leaning fatigued
against the hills.
Now, blackness.
And my life passes while I
live in expectation,
waiting for
one radiant moment in
the darkness of night
or one quiet moment in
the clamor of day.