2018.05.27.
Books
Is this then a book,
this, how shall I say? murmur,
this face turned to the inside
of something dark that doesn’t yet exist,
that if touched
by a suddenly innocent hand
opens helplessly
like a mouth
speaking in our own voice?
Is this a book,
this kind of heart (our heart)
saying ‘I’ between we and us?
2018.05.27.
Returning
Like somebody coming from distant countries outside
himself, arriving at last where he’s always been
and finding everything in its proper place,
the past in the past, present in the present,
so too the traveler arrives at old age
where he and his path become one.
He enters his home for the first time
and for the first time lies down on his bed.
Left behind are ports, islands, cities,
memories, times of year.
And finally he eats the primal bread
that does not taste of foreign words.