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Cobolt [Ten Poems]
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August Images
Images conceal themselves in August.
I wake, rise from the wheelchair
and burn. I think of us,
walking side by side where nothing
could touch
the lake sparkling underground in the depths
seeds germinating in silence
at their margins where we could sleep.
The hills and forests above
the dark green iris insinuates
the caress of refracted light
on skin cooled by wind at night.
Cranes of the day crush any thought
and the debilitation doesn’t drive nails through our spines,
it drives us considerably apart.
We won’t end up in a paradise
or a hell, my love
we’ll crawl carelessly under a rock
waiting for thunder.