I spent the night in that city, creating light before moving on.
In an afternoon, in a year between wars, I arrived.
Even in summer on a train the world grows dim. And the rain puts me to a sleep like children. A child’s sleep – after play and refreshed by dream.
They know far away the sea is singing its milky lullabies for transforming the cool moan into froth. Dissolving the pains in the bones from growing up which spread out into the blood. Making the marks it leaves harder to remove, but who wants to banish a stain that saves a life? These stains, in the brainshapes of the lush and rolling hills of my constant imagination, numbering in only the few thousands on reality’s plain.
All are art. And I long to be upon them.