someday I will live on a water,
it will love me
I will spend my days discovering it’s mysteries
spinning them into fantastic tales,
cinematic grays of storm,
kaleidoscope colors of dragonfly spring

I will live in the cocoon of its beauty,
in the folding space of beings from every world
I will story the breath of pirouettes,
the creation waves of slumber
finding uncommon lives
woven through fertile riparian fabrics  

the water will know me as no human could
it will absorb me into it’s rhythm
I will disappear from causation
cherished and protected the remainder of my days
I, devoted witness and biographer to a landscape

The voice, the bell-yellow
voice of the sax plays on.
Under the mind like a layer
of canvas lie the brushes
and strokes, the arms and legs
of memory.  The arrival on the
skin of sound is the moment
of love.  The unfurling of
the pallette.

You say, listen, the wail of
breath on brass is mine.  No,
it is yours.  The voice, no
longer alone, even when
unaccompanied, falls from
the blues of evenings or the
reds of afternoons, approaches
with footprints in sand.  We
are castled in music, our
colors unfurled.

Our fingers on the keys.  We
see the archetype of design in
the sound of the sax, the
movement in the fabric of
stripes.  The sound’s colors
draw us to each other.
Listen.  The wail of breath
on brass is everywhere.
Listen.


101793

i close my eyes
to see you i close my eyes,
the world suddenly is leaving
entirely
is leaving, of its  own accord, is leaving,
    is falling like an eyelid, tired
on the keys of a piano, the stillness of the morning covers us,  white
white,
bleached by the winter, waiting for the pious sound,
waiting
for the snowdrops to bloom

rhapsodic pastoralism
as beguilingly bucolic as tempera gardens,
where nature’s wild beauty
is domesticated and made
into a safe space for dream and play,
reverie and revelry.

with the bright dawn
chatter of birdsong
it seems to reach your ear across distance,
like a girl singing happily to herself
while walking down the road
on the other side of your garden wall.

Streaming lazily
With no real place to get to
Water's gravity

Shame, a blur of red and orange, smudging the canvas
Lost, a jagged line, twisting and turning
Afraid, a swirl of blue and black, consuming the frame

Stares, a splash of yellow, piercing the darkness
Voice, a stroke of purple, trembling and raw
Frame, a smear of green, contorted and broken

No name, a drip of pink, fading into the background
No future, a smudge of brown, dull and uninviting
All bridges, a streak of white, burned and crumbling

Shame, a prison, enclosing the soul in a cage of color
Guilt, a shadow, creeping in and consuming the light
Freedom, a burst of gold, shining and radiant

Love, a flood of color, washing away the shame and the guilt
Hope, a beacon, shining and guiding the way

It's possible to look on the world
through:
the magnifying glasses of wonder
the diminishing glasses of despair
through fingers, through tears
the black-, the blue-, and rose-coloured spectacles
through a keyhole
the piece of glass for observation of sun-eclipse
the barrel of a rifle
and through thousand hollow-glasses
of the Auschwitz-Museum.

by. Henryk Jasiczek translated from the Polish by Adam A. Zych