Richard Yeung
1 maand, 3 weken ago
The Table Dreams
The night leans inward,
its silence balanced on the rim of a glass.
A table stands mid in the room,
a fragment of geometry holding its breath.
The bottle, part light, part longing,
catches the moon’s slow pulse,
its contents uncertain,
is it water, or a trick of wanting?
The air is thick with possibility.
Every edge trembles between presence and idea.
Even the floorboards seem unsure
whether they exist to be stepped upon
or simply to cradle the thought of weight.
In this hush, thirst becomes a sculptor,
shaping form from shadow.
I almost believe, almost...
That the imagined can be poured.
- Richard A. Yeung