A Sore Throat and More

Memoirs of diseases, records of ailments

Why do they abound in literature?

Notwithstanding the self-evident truth that all diseases must be averted at all costs, or even obliterated,

Notwithstanding the axiom that good health is the greatest of all gifts,

The state of being sick transports us to another realm

Transfixes us in an oblique light

Makes us float nude down the Seine, as it were

Turns us into rain, transforms us into an airy mist

As long as we survive the night, that is.

Autumn

I cannot hold my breath, and then there was autumn. Autumn, which ought to have long passed. It clouded my windows with its touch. If the Earth has to die, it will be in autumn.

Season's Greetings

Music is soothing because it progresses in one direction only

Keeping in time, even when the harmonies are complex and the colors wild

But what happens when the music ends?

I am lost, utterly lost, in the brightness of day

Closing my eyes, I see clouds billowing

They travel in every direction, to the right, to the left, crisscrossing

The wind does not carry the clouds; the clouds carry the wind

The clouds, too, keep in time, but inaudibly

Except when it rains

Snow, too, is music...