Poetry
Of Dreaming
I spend a life in the screen, forgetting there is code
Code spent to give the life to forget the code made
of a world more or less real
and a time that travels more or less the same
even if my breaths are measured
by harsh hands on cold instruments
I am still breathing.
Do not forget that.
In each breath, the body remembers.
Remembering something that it could never forget
Holding something that does not need to be held
If only you could remember
that you have been given something that holds you
To be held is not a choice then, but an acceptance.
Breath, remember, live.
What love Have I held before you or after that even knows this feeling?
It is separate words this, I've been told a lie of Inuit's 50 words for snow
nothing but a linguistic trick, like Germans making two words one by smashing them back to back
How many words do i need to combine before I can say I love you?
Maybe Ill add one a day, or just a letter, or Ill do it any time a leaf falls
or the light shines, or anything reminds me of you.
Id quickly lose place on the page, discover not a new word or poem or book
but a new sound,
it is not a language that loves you, I do.
And I'll never be able to say.