.

down to my last breath
I want to occupy your thisandthat,
to be a page that fills the place
inside your head with magic atmosphere,
to be of words in silent space spilling
intracircularities that hold you up
but let you go again somehow
transformed.




"listen to that! just listen to it.",

C implores with his fingers stretched
into the air, palms down. he rides in
the passenger seat while I concentrate
on traffic. we are driving towards a
train station, approaching an overpass
and looking down at the tracks, down at
the Via Rail train cars slowly grinding
to a halt. the sky is white. soft rain
fills up the windshield and wipers
slide across the glass with intermitant
regularity. the prolonged screech of
the rail contradicts the random french
horn-like honks of two trumpeter swans
who fly across the road above us. what
I see is white-on-white but he sees
with his ears, listens and hears
screeeeeech swishswish honk swishswish honk.
his hands are still suspended in the air
as if he is conducting the day.

"did you see that! did you see it?",

I ask while pointing out the window.
but he is only attuned to rhythmic
evocations and ignores my remark,
adding,

"your voice. just then. yeahhh, that's
the flute part. right there."

I shake my head, "the sign back there.
and the swans. you missed it!"

"huh?", he reluctantly turns his head.
"oh, that old thing. ya, somebody should
tear it down ... nothing on it."

"no. no no. the texture on the
wood like driftwood and the torn paper
all around the edge. amazing surfaces!
white sky, brown fields behind?
so monochromatic. so beautiful!
it's an abstract painting."

after a long pause, I add,
"we should take a break, you know."

"yeah, get something to eat maybe."

"no, I mean, take a break. from this.
turn off the day and just be in it.
by the way, do you see words or do
you hear them? how does that work?"

the rest of the drive remains wordless;
two sponges conducting silent symphonies
at 80 km/h. I imagine a painter stepping
back from t/his particular canvas-of-a-day
and as an afterthought adding a few extra
strokes ... a car on the road, maybe a sign.



texture.