jueves, 10 de noviembre de 2011
the treachery of hope
one memory keeps haunting me:
the day when winter died.
so much white grief.
could it be other,i thought,
with high snows all around?
you came and stayed with me for a while.
i can still feel how weary you were.
we talked about the thaw of cold hours
and the treachery of hope:
"the meadows outside-the meadows",you said,
pointing to the mountain of snow,
"the meadows of white are enchanting young
women,fast bending their steps
towards the tenements of their dreams."
but i mocked you,and how sad i made you.
"such beautiful meadows they are...";
again you spoke,forgetting what i had said.
one of you-i don't remember who-was embroidering
a tablecloth of stunning damask;
we took it and laid it over the immaculate
immensity of white.
then we dined together.