La apus număr clipe. Secundă cu secundă le aliniez, aurii și pufoase, scânteind a timp și culoare. Și uneori le ating întrebător cu raze-n privire și urme de pași: „De unde veniți? Și-ncotro mergeți?!…”
„Șirag de aici și acum. Într-un mereu. Stele puzderie în umbra vântului. Peste tot, nicăieri, dans rece cald pe note de zare…”
Și clipele, perle minuscule, îmi răsar în inimă bătaie cu bătaie, puls liniștitor străbătut de lumină și vis.
At sunset I count moments. Second by second, I line them, golden and soft, sparkling of time and much color. And sometimes I touch them questioningly, rays in my eyes and traces of steps: „Where are you coming from? And where are you going?!…”
„String of here and now. Into a forever. Myriad stars in the shadow of the wind. Everywhere, nowhere, cold warm dance in horizon hues…”
And the moments, tiny pearls, wing into my heart beat after beat, soothing pulse of longing and light.
“SELF PORTRAIT: Throwing Armfuls of Air into the Air”
― Jandy Nelson, I’ll Give You the Sun
“Light
That’s how I feel-
like the winter-fringed
breeze might scoop
me up into its wings,
fly
away with me trapped
in its feathered embrace.
I am a snowflake.
A wisp of eiderdown,
liberated
from gravity. My body
is light. Ephemeral.
My head is light.
I want to sway
beneath
the weight of air,
dizzy with thought.
Light filters through
my closed eyelids.
The sun,
chasing shadows,
tells me I’m not
afloat in dreams.”
― Ellen Hopkins
“Suppose I were to begin by saying that I had fallen in love with a color.”
― Maggie Nelson, Bluets
albastrul veghează moale întinderea vălurind de dincolo de aer, lumină și stuf…
„cobor trepte, întind strălucirea covor
împletită din umbre și raze
parfumate cu zbor…”
the blue lullingly watches over the expanse waving from beyond the air, the light and the reed…
„I’m sending steps, I’m spreading a carpet of bright
woven from rays and shadows
scented with flight…”
“Moments pass, lots and lots of them, with us holding on, it feels like for dear life, or maybe holding on to dear life.”
― Jandy Nelson, I’ll Give You the Sun
„239. But now you are talking as if love were a consolation. Simone Weil warned otherwise. “Love is not consolation,” she wrote. “It is light.”
240. All right then, let me try to rephrase. […] I aimed to be a student not of longing but of light.”
― Maggie Nelson, Bluets
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