This Error is the Sign of Love


"We have to be in a desert,
for he whom we must love is absent."
— Simone Weil

  • Early morning and the mist, saturated with light,
  • obscures the disappearing powerlines. A damp obscurity
  • but a desert nonetheless: birds that fly into it
  • lose their bodies and survive
  • as the songs of birds, the tallest locust
  • is nothing but the rustle of its leaves.
  • Slowly the sun cuts and burns the haze away
  • to re-embody each in a seedy yellow sleep.