The Boundary

'These trees have huge leaves. It is a silent green.' 'Some of them are reddish.' I looked down and saw wet, fragmented, and red leaves on the ground. ‘There is a small pile. They have fallen so far.'‘The trees are indifferent to whether their green survives or not.' The same old man appeared in my mind. He closed his eyes in a pained wince. 'We live in a sensory world, ' he said.‘This growing reddishness is more like sorrow and less like a withered feeling of love.'‘There is something strange in my printed book. G looks like C, but they have different colors. These unchanging colors are like gold and silver.‘That mapped rock can not roll down, but I want to imagine it loudly cracking in the valley. It has no moss.' 'I don't like to hear any crack. My visual shape is sharply inflected. This inflection is much more Kiki than Bouba.' 'I want to imagine its shape.' Its mirror image was projected on a translucent screen of the sky becoming very bright and I could not perceive it any longer. A blue wind blew all the sounds away. The highest tiers of the sky locked some proud round clouds, and they could not shed their tears. The rain bruised, blistered, and brushed the leaves. The rock changed its shape into a scorpion. I was wondering to know what a gold scorpion might keep between its claws. The old man opened his eyes, and his blue orbs were rising to meet the golden ones. His sorrow became a trip back in time. I opposed my thumb and my forefinger. I used them as mimicry of the pincer to cut my imagination. It became an outer reflection of an inner condition. Sadness radiated out away from my chest, and turned on to become an utter chaos. I would have liked to say that the rock is not like you. Your face became an emotional salience map for me. Words like fighting, fleeing, and mating were coming into my mind. Maybe your smile was not a sweet one, but this way, I felt it when I kissed your lips wanting to know everything about you. A shadow of a still green sound became the voice of our love. That rock was like you. This output of feelings might be infinite. Then, you played them all, and I was conscious of what you were doing. I felt an urge to say that those red fragmented leaves were like phantom limb pains. Poem by Marieta Maglas