Trois couleurs: 最好的時光


“Does the world have nothing inside but sorrow?”–Andrei Platonov

“On windy or rainy days, naturally there are times when these clocks would stop…”--陳黎


Part III


2021: Crimson, a time for freedom 


and 

our mother's bedding on our tongues, the taste of their bones nestled in our bellies and their ghosts scribbling a lost alphabet on our wrists and voice, springing

onward


how does one see through clouded time, the seasons of unseeing, this compass needle long in nature of seeing of spun magnets and gravitation flow: howl, how, just how to see. So, it is with me. 

are we not blind?


these wind-gusted days, on call, 

call them what they are, a gambit gamble over our gambol past all that has died, all the stopped up clocks and rickrack shackled hope. what else to do 

in the time of shadow and sorrow: our love 

already cantilevered over a dark dominion and then we stood still and straight, so why not, why not we ask, as we wept into a crimson pillow on the flight back, where spines weakened and breath grew troubled and how was I to know all the wethings, all the garnet we’s that would change in a jump of pearl onto black, the currant lips, the ruby neon aglow on their skin in the dark corner of the alley, light transformed into adverb and accordian, our lives substituted blue for magenta, life for death, the land for the sky and there it stood, as the canary lights across Mississauga fleets and reflects back the constellations above and I 

understood 

that simple gesture, a diary of failure, how far away, how far away, how


far


away the licked-over distance in the print of a smudge of space, how upended this rearranging became, breath between a barracks of lens and light, the ligature of word and likeness and

yet, we continued yet understood, the how to begin. 

bereft. beating. brook.

fall upon me

that there, the light

the light was lanterning

home, we fled all we had fled originally only to encircle the incurable circles and we awoke days letter as 


our mouth was filled with light and the thinning and so, this morning darkness spreads thin the bone-winter light and the pliable silence 


limbers