As light is needed to make shade, so do
I need your voice to say what’s real here, what is made
of substance, what is air and nothing more. Or lies the truth in
the transparent molecules between us when we see each other?
Air has no shade, no memories, you say.
Yet I recall a certain storm we had before.
Air moving fast. Although it didn’t last for long,
the memory won’t fade. The air between us seems much thicker now.
So what is real when clouds have moved away,
is it enough for us to open savoured bottles? Will you stay?