The Message - a long prose poem
The Message I came Martin, and you were not here. I sat on the doorstep of your house leaning against the door and I thought that somewhere in the city, a wave that crosses the air, you were intuiting that I was here. This is your little piece of garden; your mimosa leans out of the wall, and when the children walk by they rip off the leaves from the most accessible branches…Above the ground, planted around the wall, very straight and serious, I see some flowers that have leaves like swords. They are navy blue, they look like soldiers. They are very serious, very honest. You are a soldier. You march through life, one, two, one, two …All your garden is solid, it is like yourself, it has a vigor that inspires confidence. Here I am against the wall of your house, like when I am against the wall of your back. The sun also shines against your windowpane and gradually it weakens because it’s late. The reddening sky has heated your honeysuckle and its odor becomes even more p