Based on a film by Charles Pictet

And if we are to go on living,
the film of our experiments
will not run softly like a dream ―
It will have the flaws of life,
the faint sound of traffic,
the incessant blink of city light ―
And when the wind hardens
everyone will leave the table,
everyone quit the scene,
but there will be a stir
somewhere, unexpected ―
like a touch of silver
on olive leaves.

And if we are to go on parting
let it be without passion,
venom or blood.
For the verso of Red
is Loss ― a dark courtyard
death inhabits best.
And when we have enough
of dinners, negotiations, dice rolling
at tables where we always lose ―
Let’s find a greener altar,
colour of an olive grove,
a fresh almond ―
or simply a more tender eye
behind the lens.

And if we are to go on believing
that love begins with flesh
but does not end with it,
let’s sit and feel our hands
on this fabric,
as an event, almost
a memory―
Let that green tablecloth,
that red ribbon flutter ―
Hope and History,
History and Hope ―
Woven together,
like reeds along the lake.

Advertisements