Through the window-pane, she is waiting. She imagines his look and his body.
Through the gate, through the bars, he speaks to her, dreams her, rails against her.
Through the night, he speaks to death, summons the shadows.
Through time, he bumps into walls, blows, the skips of memory.
Through life they love each other, like lovers do.
Through another body they love each other differently.
Through the South they wander, they continue the work of living and saying goodbye to the departing.
Through the window-pane he comes, to shut exile, and open desire again.
Sur (1988)
Sur Reviews
- Author: lezard Coming Home
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