Blue Music Dream

Theme for June, for W.

Dear W,

Today I woke up thinking of the cosmos, completely submerged in the idea of loving the universe despite its inaccessibility. I thought about getting into a pod and spending what remains of my life writing poems about the inaccessibility of certain things. Sleep has not always been easy but there is a way your neck bends to remind me of gardens growing under the soles of God. I read Barthelme when I woke up so you will excuse my incoherence. I dreamt about a title I came across before I got into bed last night, Horoscopes for the Dead it was. How wonderful is it, to be able to create. You can’t help but think about what is out there, waiting to be claimed, waiting for your hands. I think I can be the universe under your hands, waiting for the ways you (can) create. The universe wanders like a child.

I have learnt today that Zephyrus was the god of the west wind. I open my windows to the possibility of letting in a god into the room where you sleep.

I woke up thinking about your body among the tall building of the city, how similar you are to distant evolving stars, burning themselves to death for the sake of beauty. Your body was next to mine in the chill of the June morning, the weight of your breathing heavy in the air, and I thought about my own disused body that’s become like a forgotten house of tunes dying. One can scream in there and wait forever for the return of an echo. I’m no longer scared of that. We’ve heard sounds from the belfry on a certain midday and I know those are the sounds you have given me.

In the grayness of the morning I could see the city on your skin, I could smell traces of sal volatile in the small room I have come to call my own. All has scattered now that you are in my room. You have a different voice for when you sleep. I’m still trying to figure out how even the most impersonal things you say affect me.

It is a small city the one we walk in, but we are finding ways to expand it, renaming all the short streets and avenues into names that sound like long avenues. Then I’m also afraid, maybe the scales will fall from my eyes and your body will not be next to mine.

 

Yours,

C.

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