Golden bands of morning cast the topography of her body,
I catch myself.
Warmth heals me and the kiss cleanses.
And I want to make this atheist cry to god,
but instead I remain still.

Stillness is a virtue and to see what is actual,
to love the present aesthetic
to lose oneself to
the moment.

When I came to
she had hit the vanishing point.

I almost knew her name.
Her voice nearly breathed a memory,
Instead her face was smeared or absent.

Some days the birds are silent,
sometimes she can make them sing.

Stillness is crushing and crushing is stillness.





Man Ray -Retour à la raison