We don't talk about

anything, we only smell --


of the same bath soap.

Phone conversation,

about the locations we --


are supposedly at.

My father narrates,

the speaker is off, I film --


deep inside his mind.

It's like a Hopper

painting, sitting on a bench --


next to my father.

I tell everything.

You look at me guiltily --


I understand you.

Talking isn't easy,

so each of us is often --


in our own bell-jar.

People in the street

are making jokes with a laugh --


that they give to me.

At the reception

I am bouncing everyone --


like silly putty.

Drinking tea in the rain
in the smell of rain
plain tea, plain rain
but, the two of us, full
of expectation: touch me
touch me, feel me

Lips, hands, all
of you, dear darling
touch me, touch me
nicer much nicer
than dreaming
dreaming the past

If you like you can
silently shout a stick
into the sky, climb
and climb higher, higher
sliding looser, looser
down and up

higher higher up
colours around the sun
diving deep into them
wallowing and wrapping yourself
and sparking sparks
from my hands

But stay with me
want me, want to
see and feel me
keep me whole
see me, feel me
touch me, touch me

I don't know how much

longer, but now, I'm with you --


now, I laugh with you.