In Broken Images
He is quick,
thinking in clear images;
I am slow, thinking in broken images.
He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;
I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images.
Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;
Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.
Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact;
Questioning their relevance, I question the fact.
When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;
When the fact fails me, I approve my senses.
He continues quick and dull in his clear images;
I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.
He in a new confusion of his understanding;
I in a new understanding of my confusion.
Counting the Beats
I am slow, thinking in broken images.
He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;
I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images.
Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;
Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.
Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact;
Questioning their relevance, I question the fact.
When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;
When the fact fails me, I approve my senses.
He continues quick and dull in his clear images;
I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.
He in a new confusion of his understanding;
I in a new understanding of my confusion.
Counting the Beats
You, love,
and I,
(He
whispers) you and I,
And if no
more than only you and I
What care
you or I ?
Counting
the beats,
Counting
the slow heart beats,
The
bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful
they lie.
Cloudless
day,
Night, and
a cloudless day,
Yet the huge
storm will burst upon their heads one day
From a
bitter sky.
Where shall
we be,
(She
whispers) where shall we be,
When death
strikes home, O where then shall we be
Who were
you and I ?
Not there but here,
(He
whispers) only here,
As we are,
here, together, now and here,
Always you
and I.
Counting
the beats,
Counting
the slow heart beats,
The
bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.
Paintings Mark Rothko