Hanging, yellowed notes and epigrams:
scribbled reminders
of meetings and moments,
of pleasures and hedonism.
Quotes by the known
to you (and perhaps me,)
the unknown.
Those carved, fountain lines,
your elegantly restless handwriting;
there were so many words
lining those mirrors and walls
they often reminded me
of leaves falling from trees
as they blew around
that room
in the last autumn breeze.
But more than
ink and paper,
these
were your talismans,
totems in miniature
to protect you
from ever
losing yourself
again;
I will never know if they worked.
Tonight
it's so quiet
on this coast
relentlessly jutting
towards Africa,
and only now,
staring out
at waves
I can never know,
do I finally realize
how little
pleasure and hedonism
there was
for you,
the fading ballerina
of my ocean mind.
Frigillana, Spain - 6/07
