Evening Ball At the Patio of Mariona

I hurt, yes, I know the wound of existence—
I am lost, like the sudden burst of a flower,
Barefoot in the winter of the world, I leap—
Leaping into the shapes of Picasso, into the fractured faces of pain,
Yet, even in the broken lines, I sing—
I see Monet, oh! the kindness in the petal,
Flowers bleeding life—
Life, so fleeting—
And I, chasing beauty, yes, beauty, through the corridors of time.

Ah, devour it all, the youth that flies through the mind!
You, my companion, so languid—
You, the melted heart of a Dali clock, soft in the desert,
Oh, time! Time, the great seducer, the harlot of the ages—
You twist me sideways,
And I become a cloud drifting,
A sunburst of weeping colors spread across the sky,
Bursting from the womb, from the great heart of woman—
And what is it all, but a painting?

:: 09.25.2024 ::