I am English. She is French.
And neither one of us can understand the other.
On the surface of language. That poser of reality. Of communication.
We have moved through this gossamer illusion of nouns and verbs.
And those lying adjectives.
To the typography of shoulders and arms and feet.
Eyes become stars.
Fingers our caravans.
And sapient tongues learn to swim in the sea of pores.
As rain to dry soil.
The lightning of touch.
The diction of intent.
Beyond event.
Beyond fact.
__________
Lips in flight.
Billowy gondolas.
Riding the furnace of breath.
Colliding as arms into jackets.
Rushing to stave the cold.
To return to a place without eyes.
And float.
__________
And standing as trees.
Arms vining.
Nostrils flaring of fruit.
Heavy.
Ripe.
_________
In this way.
We speak the language.
Before language.
In the act before all acts.
To create nouns.
With verbs.
8 comments:
thank you for visiting, Tree! i am happy to discover how thrilling your decadent tranquility is. oh, and the last stanza of the poem - so very good! i liked all of it, but the ending is hard to forget.
Roxana, the pleasure was all mine. You have a wonderful eye and a beautiful blog. I feel transported to some magical place.
Thank you for the kind words. I like using verbs to make nouns. :-)
LOL! what an 'ironic coincidence" ( as snow would call it) ! You speak of Noun & verbs and communication just when I got appointed as a teacher of communication skills to aspiring graduates! :D
Sorry for not having been around tree. I am missing all this wonderful writing. My work schedule is a killing 9 to 6 for six days per week!
Sounds exciting Mona. Good luck with the new assignment. Wishing you all the best.
Colliding as arms into jackets.
Sometimes I can gorge without bottom, all nasty noodled finger. Sometimes something is so decadent one thin wafer is enough. This is enough.
I kinda liked that phrase too. :-)
Wow !!! Superb Trée !!!
Always also romantic, also poetic…;)
Thanks Pierre. You are very kind.
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