AND SO

And so, the canal

where you fell in,

like a terrible dream…

I pulled you out, you were drenched

and cried and were angry, right,

with the stupid tourist that

for all the carelessness of the world

for her hurry or God knows,

pushed you in.

You, floating there,

what a scare,  

what a preposterous suddenness,

but in my memory you soon were

in a pool of light.

Memory, fear, loss

and the multifarious pools of silence.

But when I passed by the canal,

the green pool of water lightened my heart.

It did, so. Nevertheless it did,

despite the anger after our row the next week,

despite the memory of me leaving

among the whooshing cars.

Despite the cries and the miles

of asphalt between me and you,

despite feeling I could never see you again,

despite the pools of silence,

the sense of  lingering nothingness.

And so, the memory

and the words in this early darkness

and your voice on the phone

and the pools of hours and days

in which I am floating, in a way,

like you were, in the green canal.

Or on the roads upon which I slide

like a whooshing question.

In the pool of this moment,

with  in my heart

the memory of your face.

Your cheekbones I trace.

 In this pool that becomes a sea.

 

And so.