At times carefully at time carelessly

I gather all the pieces

the pieces of something that seems

known to me

long ago I knew it by heart

I put the pieces together

mixing them with what I already recalled

The heaviness gives me rhythm

that pressing bends my bones

the diaphragm and the lungs and the wind pipe and voice box and vocal cords that vibrate and open and close to protect the airways when swallowing. The flexible muscle of the vocal cords, the throat, the neck that connects the head to the body. Breathing, speaking, swallowing. The mouth, back softer part of the roof of the mouth, and the bony part in front of it. The nasal cavity, the bony ridge behind the upper front teeth, the teeth in the back with larger flatter surfaces and the ones in the front with sharper edges. Gums, jawbone, salivary glands, the inner lining of the cheeks, the fold of tissue underneath the tongue. The tongue. The lips. The lightness.

_

_

On my notebooks from school

On my desk and the trees

On the sand on the snow

I write your name

On every page read

On all the white sheets

Stone blood paper or ash 

I write your name

On the golden images

On the soldier’s weapons

On the crowns of kings

I write your name

On the jungle the desert

The nests and the bushes

On the echo of childhood 

I write your name

On the wonder of nights

On the white bread of days

On the seasons engaged

I write your name

On all my blue rags

On the pond mildewed sun

On the lake living moon

I write your name

On the fields the horizon

The wings of the birds

On the mill of shadows

I write your name

On every piece of dawn

On the sea on the ships

On the demented mountain

I write your name

On the foam of the clouds

On the sweat of the storm

On dark insipid rain

I write your name

On the glittering forms

On the bells of colour

On physical truth

I write your name

On the wakened paths

On the opened ways

On the scattered places

I write your name

On the lamp that gives light

On the lamp that does not

On my reunited thoughts

I write your name

On the fruit cut in two

Of my mirror and room

On my bed’s empty shell

I write your name

On my dog greedy tender

On his listening ears

On his awkward paws

I write your name

On the sill of my door

On familiar things

On the fire’s sacred stream

I write your name

On all flesh that’s in tune

On the brows of my friends

On each hand that extends

I write your name

On the glass of surprises

On lips that attend

High over the silence

I write your name

On my ravaged refuges

On my fallen lighthouses

On the walls of my boredom

I write your name

On passionless absence

On naked solitude

On the marches of death

I write your name

On health that’s regained

On danger that’s past

On hope without memories

I write your name

By the power of the word

I regain my life

I was born to know you

And to name you

Liberty.

(Paul Eluard)