Lyrical Partings

Morning, I wake, my mind a silver-blue. Stinging eyes reveal a world, also silver-blue. The sun is silver through the fog, the city, though, still blue. A lethargy still weighs on those who work to sleep and speak in blue.

You’ve seen the faces sliding by. You’ve seen how nothingness can stare. Retired bankers, teachers, too, doctors, cops, prostitutes. You— you’ve seen the world turn silver-blue.

In each moment, a metaphor. In every encounter, shifting shape. Whenever the vacancy of faces meet, the scope of nothing grows. Otherwise, they slide on by, the silver sun retreats, avenues teem, time plods on— and then, the dialogue in blue.

Who meets the same miracle twice? Who’d squander pain for panting breath? Any word could be the last. Let’s deal, but not pretend, in hope. Speak in marble, planes of light. Speak in song or silk. In resin, blood or anything except this color that bleeds us through.





誰が二度と同じ奇跡に出逢う? 誰が苦労を無駄にする? どんな言葉だって、最後の一言かもしれないじゃないか。信じるふりではなくて、信じよう。“大理石の言語”や“光の言語”で話せ。“歌の言語”や“絹の言語”で話せ。


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