Bundles of nerves our bodies, vibrations in search of unison, constantly in and out of tune like a train passing through seasons. It is too late now, I want something else, release of tension, perfect sleep, snow suspended in the air, I want to hear what you hide behind your tales. Listen, I will craft you a winter morning with our curtains and just one cat, I will climb over the secret gate to fill your bed with forbidden flowers, I can give you a new beginning, the very first thread of the work but you must promise not to laugh until my eyes are closed. The year is empty and full of darkness, it engulfs the passing of days like an ocean through the moving window - we are all waiting for the orchestra to fill the room with a single bright note, I have given up hope to hear anything but dissonance; the mind cannot invent a warmth it has never felt . Look, I will build you a palace in the rain, with a bucket of sand and my capable fingers, I will play to move away the mountains, to fill your bed with forbidden light I can give you perfect nights of sleep, the silence and the words, I promise you I know which string should be pulled tighter. There are as many types of happiness as nerves in our bodies, all can ache, all can get stuck between action and bones - soon enough the fast landscape will cease its dreadful stealing of months and hours, the vibrations coming together to form a single red note. It is not too late, all I want is to forget how my skin and your skin have ever been cold. © I.Balestri 2020
[ This poem will appear in the anthology Poets Against Poverty, a collaborative project created to raise funds for the homeless, if you are interested in purchasing the anthology or learning more about the project you can find more information here ]
Photo by:Ketan Krishnan
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