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From A Crossway (The Green Window Sequence)
«Il n’est pas d’objet plus profond, plus mystérieux, plus fécond, plus ténébreux, plus éblouissant qu’une fenêtre éclairée d’une chandelle.»
Charles Baudelaire, Les Fenêtres
Charles Baudelaire, Les Fenêtres
… looking upwards from a crossway’s corner, waste papers whirling in the wind, a woman’s legend might be dreamed …
… late october late afternoon dusty light through shutters ajar whilst she looks down unto the crossway, no car noise, dim forgotten music inside, «The Spy», life curdled in a forgotten selection of sixteen tarot cards under the light blue light of a green lamp …
… lost legend of stone flower turned into flowing flesh filling the stone basin to a sparkling mirror whose clouded surface shreds in wisps, then melts & fades …
… unroving through woods & moors, along brooks & shades, unfollowed by blazing & blissful eyes of whispering song …
… no journey but in time inside …