събота, 17 март 2012 г.

Oren Lavie "Her morning elegance"

We slowly open our eyes.
It feels like the weight of the night is still hanging on our eyelids.
Heavy.
Sluggish.
Brutal.

Slowly, with a lot of effort, we roll 180 degrees.
Every part of our body creaks.
Rust begins to fall off our joints and our whole systems feels like someone just wound the springs of a clockwork mechanism so ancient, it should have fossilized by now.

We focus our gaze.
Her hair is messy.
She's rolled herself up like a cocoon.
She looks at us softly.
She smiles.

Her smile.
Pure sunlight.
Burning the mares off of me.
Bathing me in warmth.
Polishing my cogs and gears.
Tightening the springs.

We smile back.
It's a perfect morning.

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