Like two small droplets of water on thick glass
runaway from each other,
we were running away from our deepest calmness…
The storm in our ear and
the rain…the rain…
The rain that whispers cushions and falls like mad waves…
I could loose in a bit inside your hairs but
I had to put some words for future stations…
The work demands some kind of intimation,
so most of the red leaves happened only through eyes.
Silence and storm and wild skirts and warfares
and the blue lights on the wet street
and you.
The train started entering the forest as the harp with a broken string made a melody…
A sound that could swallow a fire and a light that could pierce a time.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Emma Rahic.

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