the mirror illuminating me

it is neither the eyes nor the soul, but the back of his throat, the wobbly pronunciations of running water, i chase after, those sounds, flying from the vaulted breast of a barren earth, through the window, the canopy of almond trees, the bundle of electrical wires, they languish on the long road and sink extinguished in the dying fire where we burned petals of a dried rose

sounds stay neither in the present nor the past nor the future only once an emptiness joyfully rang in a place where there is no one left to remember

i know before the mirror, even my nakedness is just a rational explanation, real and unreal, existing and nonexistent, wondrous and meaningless, the green of the window and canopy of leaves swallow a rainy face, hands tap the glass dissolve and disappear, drops of coffee silently breathe, the flower’s yellow spills into the wine glass, winter wraps me and him in a thick fog, borges’ dream tiger sleepwalks weightlessly down the stretched out road sucking clean every footprint

it is neither the eyes nor the soul, rather his long journey culminating in the moment he lingers

next to me, and i carefully illuminate every trace of him on the gloaming road tinged with gold, in little bits

a boy dreams of finding treasure, a lonely man looks at his feet stepping on other feet that belong to his own shadow, faint marks of teeth pile on the shoulder of some strange girl who has come into the world before me, and my hand pressed against the mirror, from now on i know

every mirror is mistaken, unless illuminating the face of one in love

i hear his sweat drip, the endless trickle of a stream on his back, trickling the eternal season of a moment, trickling of neither the past nor the future, only a pleasure that never comes back

now, before a deep lake, nature collapses me, i warn myself: his eyes are still there, in the pale water, i warn myself, nothing else can hurt me because i am present naked and elated

we were saturated in night smell, traffic smell, street smell, silent absence smell, in which i, nearly suffocated