Salma Ainy
It’s a terracotta house.
On the terracotta wall
there is the painting of my love
It’s the painting that changes its hue
as the season changes its own.
There is a flash at the end of the tunnel
A flash that flickers through the frame
so does my love
in his pendulum tantrum
swings through the wings of depth
a deepness of crystalline
and a profundity of mystification.
In my terracotta house
deep in my terracotta spirit
I look into his eyes
only to find that I cannot name.
