Return

I am kneeling at your feet. My fingers take hold of the bruise-blue laces of your shoes. I fumble among the knots of the laces. My nails undo knot after knot. Your shoes, yawning, slid down beside your chair. - The hands of the clock have turned so fast! - I am kneeling on the floor, before you. The hair on your head is all white. All white, pure white. Not one black line, not even a speck of black, is left in you, except the pupils of your eyes: with the flicker of two stars in the mist behind a cloud. I am kneeling before you. I take hold of the edges of your socks, tugging, pulling! I draw off the black elastic rings from around your ankles. I wiggle my fingers under your toes, bare now upon my lap. My head is bowed. My lips kiss the naked soles of your feet. The peals of your laughter fill the air: we have triumphed over the heavy silence. - The hands of the clock have turned so very fast! - The years of my separations have gone by. Through the volley of time, I have returned to the start of the line: on a new page: Before you I am kneeling on the floor, tightly clinging to you. Laughing out loud, so loud, once again in my arms is a white, white love that was nothing - ever - but a newborn ...