Sulpher and Dust: Two Poems.
Molly's fragments of poetry drawn from a working collection titled, ‘The Art of Entropy’.
I met you on a page of your diary
that deluded my head.
Or, I met you on a train-line,
swimming into Devon sulphur.
I think I noticed you,
Unblinking, waiting for life to happen,
or waiting for it to stop,
because its light blinded you
and I think you blinded me.
Somewhere it happened.
Meeting you happened.
Just as it happened and is happening on this page.
But I cannot type what happened for you.
Were you blinded?
I think I was waiting
But I don’t think we ever did meet.
Jacqueline Lamba, Ruisseau, 1971, painting, oil on canvas.
Dust particles have formed an aether in my bedroom.
They swerve and propel themselves upwards, a glow of
they multiple, they fragment, fracture and converse.
Time has lapsed, an infinity of time for those particles.
But I have not moved.
I have merely watched the world form itself over and over and tear itself apart.
How alike I am to the dust, to the cosmos. I too have reached towards a splendid
power and light, only to find myself
no longer whole but an strange entanglement of forms.
And in all of this- my bedroom window has been flung open.
And the breeze disrupts the dust. I am
My bedroom is a bedroom once more. The illusion is broken, and there you lie next to me.
Unblinking and constant.
You were probably dreaming.
Maybe the cosmos was your dream
and both our words shattered as that window opened.
Leonor Fini. Les Songes d’une nuit d’été. 1963. Oil on Canvas