Paradise on Earth

Modifié le : 2019/07/13

Win­ter seems to have silenced me. It is always eas­i­er to per­ish on the lumi­nous beau­ty of a leaf that lan­guish­es, pierced by morn­ing light than to try to devel­op any poet­ry around the slush.

Died in their crushed mois­ture, the leaves crys­tal­lize, then evap­o­rate into purged to the sew­ers sediment.

I trad­ed my gaze from the sky for that of the ground grad­u­al­ly fad­ing away. In my own sky, Sat­urn to the Moon, Nep­tune to the Sun. Astrologers, you will under­stand and you, just know that my mind walks with its hands in front of it, try­ing to clear a fog that is nei­ther hap­pi­ness nor despair. Per­haps sim­ply a famil­iar fatigue, which feeds my thoughts as oth­ers feed on candy.

I would glad­ly exchange my win­ter coat for a sun­nier and younger skin. It’s not depres­sion, it’s cold, lis­ten­ing to the unfath­omable echoes of a cave. Sat­urn for dry­ing, Nep­tune for the immea­sur­able. It is a non-wis­dom that, like every­thing else, will flow into the gutters.

So it’s win­ter now. We pre­fer to for­get its dai­ly white and, at night, we invent a real­i­ty of light. We will wait and then we will reach Spring. We’ve seen oth­ers die.

I breathe in the cold air and fall asleep. I am not at peace, but I am not at war either. I don’t know where I live any­more. Maybe this is par­adise on Earth.