Love is the answer.
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I dream you, and you come to me
intact, in focus, indiscreet, mouthing
the sweetest lies as if we cared.
As if, in fact, we might begin again
with needle-tracks and scratches down your arms
that might have told in drunken hieroglyphs
how heavy-shouldered I pick my way
through a night of empty forecourts,
back to the etceteras of passion:
the obligatory pathos of discarded shoes,
the glass of water juddering by the bed,
the face my heavenly eyes avoid.
—Tim Kendall, “Hieroglyphs”
Photography Credit Leonid Tishkov and Boris Bendikov
Infinite capacity for love in the smallest detail;
infinite suffering in the innermost reality;
large mind in even the dumbest, mutest object;
destiny in an object that stands still;
heart in the middle of the gray, motionless water;
the largest sadness in the world in a groaning buoy;
in a buoy and the bird overhead, huge sadness,
and yet I hop from place to place as though I’m weightless.
—Dan Chiasson, from “Where’s the Moon, There’s the Moon (A Story for Children)”
Art Credit Eugenia Loli