It is the light
That engulfs me
Its fingers of dust waltzing ever so softly
Treading air and falling, falling, falling to the sound of
Footsteps
It is my grandma’s smile
And her laugh
And her light
It wraps around me
Sheltering me from a reality that melts away
With the leaded pace of these summer days
There is a place on earth at the end of time
Which seems to be all mine
Not a home
But a place
Where I can hear my mother’s voice
Still travelling, crossing spatial barriers, carried by light beams
Tracing the timeline of her ephemeral youth
It is a place where I can breathe
And with every watercolour landscape I tread through
Past and present converge
But they do not clash
They are two temporal tones, dashing and clasping
Waves in a precarious confrontation
Instead, the two linger in the air
Those there feel their honey-soaked stare
Carried by the smell of salt and warmth
Their hearts are filled somewhere in the North
It is a place where I clutch at the lucid light
Where remnants of my own voice
Will soon be trapped between wooden beams
Fixing in place a time
It is within these realms that I exist boundlessly