Range Downdraft Ventilation

-Alejandra Correa

Photo: Pluja fine

my right hand holds

in his right hand

contains it in the hollow

and squeeze my fist in his fist

thumb and index underpin this pen

Draw some old signs

takes me from outside my stroke

he is my stroke

he

adventure, I follow

but it is not

is the movement and music

hand

squeezing my

their movement in mine

We dip together in the ink pen

minimum (the acrid smell of black ink

in my small nose)

We return to the interrupted line

rise our hands

shorten

are restricted

are controlled

language Draw

breath so close

deep voice makes a noise

as dictating

shorter, longer, met

And then she says:

- Now, you alone

and opens into an abyss

Alejandro Correa

"Journal of calligraphy, the stubborn suri Editions.

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The

Love at first sight

Both are convinced that

joined a sudden feeling.

that security is beautiful,

but uncertainty is more beautiful.

imagine that as a previously unknown

nothing had happened between them.

But what about the streets, stairways, corridors

in which could have been crossed long ago?

I would ask

if not remember, perhaps a meeting face to face once

a revolving door

or a "sorry" or sound "has been wrong" on the phone, "

but I know your answer.

not remember.

be surprised to know that long ago

that chance plays with them,

chance

not quite ready to become

destination,

that zoom,

that stood in their way

and to laugh

departed aside.

There were signs, signals, but

what to do if they were not understandable.

hovered there not

a road shoulder to shoulder

even three years ago last Tuesday? There

something lost and found.

Who knows if any

ball in the bushes of childhood. There

doorknobs and doorbells

where a tactose overcame another touch.

Luggage, side by side, in a locker.

Perhaps a certain night the same dream

disappeared immediately after waking.

Every beginning is but a continuation, and

book

events is always open halfway.

Wislawa Szymborska From "End and beginning" 1993 version of Abel A. Murcia

10/22 Bullpup Aluminum

always Szymborska poem-René Char

ray green waters of tolling the ecstasy of a beloved face, waters rich in old crimes, amorphous water, water from a nearby looted consecration ... He had to suffer the warnings of his memory removed, the plumber salutes lips absolute love fall. Identical
wisdom, you who compose the future without believing in the weight discouraged, he feels his body emerging from the power of travel.

RENE CHAR (1907-1988)