a drop, a fountain

And it falls on me again.
A drop touching my forehead, rolling down my cheeks, touching the corner part of my upper lip, my chin,
to then roll off, disappearing into the vast abyss in front.

The lemony man kisses me on my forehead.

He, too late, tried to drink the drop that is now atomized on the pavement.
He leaves a bitter insulting fragment of him, which I must carry into the night.
while he does so, the tree stands still, only the leaves offers to play, as I salute them with a nod.

In between breaths I try to discover the secret of my palms.
A face appears in the left one.
Find nothing” she says, transforming into snowflakes and melting in my palm.

A gazillion drops must have fallen today, and I’m safe, too safe here, while I know nothing.
Only the woman behind the thousand doors, covered in lavender, knows me, because she does not exist.

I guess if you think about it long enough, you think it’s real, but in where do you then find the unreal? behind the veils of the morning dew and endless fields, the corn flickering in the wind, calling my name, or nothing, and I’m sure it’s real, aren’t I?

Do you see me when you look into my face or do you see the angel that left the grave of a fallen soldier, murdered by, truly, a brother who forgot that we sprung from the same fountain.
If you follow the water long enough down into the fountain, you will see what I mean.

~ by Aquatic Poetry on January 4, 2010.

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