When Language Breaks
When Language Breaks The most genuine tree fills up with you and your larvae. The narrowest street, the one full of gossip, inhabits you. Water pronounces your name when it suffuses our hands with pure beauty. You draw your face on the most horrible dry winter leaf and I still recognize you. Although the world surrenders to us all it's impossible to reach you. Right now, no one’s home. Only you. And you're howling like a wounded wolf. A part of me, of your light, left with to the last name that names us. The other part, the smallest, disappeared with your voice. I mean, your voice was the language of everyday things when you lived. Now language is the skin of the world. That's why we always baptize Death wearing blindfolds. That night I talked to my father who sat at the table. I said what Sharon Olds never could :: The photograph I wanted to find in the family album :: Brothers and sisters t...
