an ivory lady lays there,
on the old rug,
crucified between a copper amphora
and an empty treasure chest,
holding in her hands
the dust from the soles of travelers
and stray dove feathers –
here ye, here ye! magic carpets for sale!
the eyes of the lady spark,
soaked for a second in sunlight,
and her arms,
entwined with the limbs of time,
flutter, missing the breeze coiled around them
flying carpets! come see, come buy!
voices, seconds, scents,
the whole mélange flows thick along her thighs,
and her skin pales under the heaviness of ignorance –
the lady gracefully floats unbeholden
beneath the blind souls trampling on her heartbeats.
carpets! woolen carpets!
woven from the finest wool!
under the clients’ footsteps,
the lady’s ivory turns grayer and opaque.
sun slowly sets.
© Liliana Negoi