We stood here in the silence of half remembered college newspaper stories. I showed her this – a picture of sunlight on a champagne flute. I remember wanting to somehow become a split-second saint sacrificing myself to save all those who I love and all those who I profess to love with the gentle gracefulness of a floating rippled nimbus cloud.
Life is filled with pedestrians, policeman, people with pets.
Memory is the artist’s companion at first, and we linger there in our thoughts reliving some event again, on the crowded, jostling sidewalk, where a Scottish wind stirs and makes a sound like waking bagpipes. Memory is the companion of hope and love. Memory is the companion of prayer. In the realm of silence memory leads us to London, Paris, Berlin, Milan, and Glasgow. We are ducks by a fountain. We are in the realm of the seen and unseen, the heard and unheard. We are dreams, we are tears. We seek innovation, we seek examination. Each moment allows us to think of exclamations and proclamations.
Life is filled with pedestrians, policeman, people with pets.
I remember wanting to somehow become a split-second saint sacrificing myself to save all those who I love and all those who I profess to love with the gentle gracefulness of a floating rippled nimbus cloud.
Budweiser and Yahoo and Panasonic and other words confront me, taunt me, haunt my imagination with a directness, with a shadiness expected yet foreign.
Everything remains noisy, crowded. So much is seen yet unseen.
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