This hungry map
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“Every sensitive person carries in himself old cities enclosed by ancient walls”
—Robert Walser (1878-1956)
Inside, no room for breath.
And a muddy field everywhere
By what mouth do I leave this city
What voice will scale this fearful
How to answer the question
This maze of rooms
This endless hall of regrets
Into tiny rivulets that bloom
Through the long darkness
Think how to unfold
How to imagine an other
Where we could conjure
This armada of doors like arms
Outside, the unforgiving paths of rain,
around me.
when the day is a distance I cannot cross?
tower when each translation gets lost?
of the body’s walls,
made from crippled echoes,
where solitude drips
into a river flowing
between our shadows.
this hungry map,
tangled world
a battering ram to storm
and open.