Thursday, October 27, 2011
The movement of the clouds
makes the earth spin faster.
There is no space between
horizon and sky.
In Genoa the hotel window
opened to an industrial port
while the television spilled
insistent news into the shallow room.
I longed for a familiar word and went
momentarily crazy for lack of English.
Distances expose our most
vulnerable selves. I still remember
the blue wine bottle that cast
blue moonlight on your skin in
Positano, the taste of raisins wrapped
in lemon leaf that clung to your lips.
I mine these memories because
I have none left, there is only the
dream of going forward,
where no one else has been.
--Martin A. Bartels (working draft)