Winter Exhibition

Thick, delicious cream poured over the world; my sky and all my horizon on every side are sweet, sweet and shining and pure: now the world is brimming with soft whispers, and this body — this place — is the safe birthplace of a sweet galaxy. In the coldest hour of the year you come and cover me with all your embrace, my love... ***** Soft, clean, it lies down on the earth and covers the earth with all its embrace; — like water — it slips into the earth — like white paint into a black brush. A wave of kisses enfolds all the atoms of the soil; in the depths. Now the world is brimming with blue whispers. In the depths — beneath the quick, bewildered footsteps — a bed is spread of one love, one bond without end: the sketch of an apple on a plate, the sketch of a rainbow on a canvas behind glass, the sketch of the mouths of two stones lying one upon the other: a kiss, the sketch of a kiss takes shape without ruin... Now the world is brimming with the whispers of kisses. Beneath the quick, heavy footsteps pounding on the body of the soil, a bed is spread, a bed in the depths, in the womb of the soil, and in this bed there is nothing, no “thing” but caress and magical lovemaking... ***** In the coldest hour of the year, soft and tender you flowed into my womb. Beneath this skin of mine — this one imprisoned in the bonds of the whip and the black cloak — beneath this bruised canvas — this false one on which they have painted my grave — a false painting! Beneath this dry layer, you are flowing in my womb. Now the world is brimming with the music of new images. Roots are dancing beneath this crust, living roots seek each other’s threads, and join together. The color of snow, pure and shining, calls to itself my canvas and my brush. Here there will be a garden or a sweet apple tree or a plant whose hidden vessels sing the story of our embrace, whispering, full of longing, in the ear of the crystal of snow that has covered it whole with all its embrace in the coldest hour of the year...