Memory Fragments
01.26.2018 | tm leonard Live in the present, in the eternity of the instant.
On the 27th he absorbed reflections in a small village. Attracted by no tourists partly cloudy skies.
She undressed. In her silent beating heart she knew the man couldn't, wouldn't, save her. She was happy with him for his playful kindness.
She signed. He tried to understand her willingness to share their intimacy. He was a slow patient lover. She trusted her instincts. After knowing him for nine months she accepted soft passions with conditions of intimacy. No kissing. No cunning linguists.
One-eyed blind.
On the 28th he said, I prefer doubt to certainty. I am more interested in the traces than the object. I love the fragments.
On the 29th he asked her, Where do I place this fragment? What country what continent what city village or heartbeat? Every heartbeat contains worlds of possibilities and probabilities.
Keep it simple like a breath, she said.
On June's final day she asked him, Do you like small? Skin on skin? Yes kneading her shoulder muscles, easing out tissue from her supine sublime spinal chord erasing tension. Her smile said, Yes. Her relaxation exhaled.
On 1 July she spoke with hand wings. Short, fast and deadly.
She dreamed of writing a short story, perhaps flash fiction. She made a pot of green tea.
Nervous, she selected a pen. She unscrewed the black ebony Mont Blanc summit. She opened a black notebook. She started with flowing calligraphy letters.
My life began in a village. I don't need to leave my village. My village is the world.
She drew a picture. It looked like this.
3 July said, tourists find and travelers discover.
A dreamer with controlled imagination passed a broken traffic sign near a golden pagoda...
SLOW CHILDREN...word lightning bolts - blue butterfly, white sky, green flowers, red leaves, songs of invisibility, piano shadow.
How do you spell loss? Accept loss forever.
Memory contains an entire world.
A blind painter paints from memory. A laughing blind poet scribbles symbols.
"A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom," - Robert Frost
Phonsavan, Laos
