He who dances in his sleep
is not aware of the dance,
nor of the sleep.
Things catch up with us, but unawares.
He who dwells under the ship hulk at night,
drawn up on the beach, made hollow and musty,
is not the one who stood at the rudder
steering this very ship to future ruin.
Like the sun draws around a man
on the ground, and makes empty of him,
so the man draws the sun,
with hands and a smile,
but images are not what you see,
and the sleep-dancer wakes to find
space and time, the rhythm of his awareness,
drawn to the center of the circle
centered around - anything.
So what is this, if not an image, -
a skin?
17 апреля 2017 г.
A skin
© Copyright: Андрей Тюков, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117041708385
Свидетельство о публикации №117041708385
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