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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