or the day I hugged the tree that grows over my father’s ashes.
(Excerpt from The Sacred Book of G.)
If I ever disappear will you still remember me?
and you, will you ever forget me?
I will leave trails in 3 clouds in the foam of the 3 waves that you’ll listen to in some crackling fire whenever you walk
barefoot in muddy soils.
If I ever disappear I will teach you how to scream louder the silence of the pain you have when handling the spikes of the roses that you didn’t want to just see because the spikes of the roses have those shapes of waves crackling when broken and the petals as clouds when you melt them inside your mouth drooling and wetting the earth so you can walk and slide playing with memories of your own.
If I ever disappear you will silently forget your childhood and how to smile and laugh without the consciousness of being an adult looking to the clouds and label them not as dream place anymore but with Latin names invented like they put in flowers and in people who are no longer dreamers.
But if you ever disappear I’ll keep the memories of the trees and their roots in the sky and branches on earth and leaves dancing with the sound of the waves crackling flames following rhythms of the stars and I’ll remain a child playing in the muddy waters nonstop trying to create circles with my dirty fingers by sculpting the tree you became.
One day, if we ever disappear, there will be no more written poems in our own minds but single letters playing with other shapes and feelings and colours lost in your own piss trying to create new boundaries and safe placentas growing foetus of our new beings and minds trespassing worlds in freedom burning pasts and conscious memories of the self.