...over Isabel's words:
You think in words; for you, language is an inexhaustible thread you
weave as if life were created as you tell it. I think in the frozen images of a photograph. Not an image on a plate, but one traced
by a fine pen, a small and perfect memory with the soft volumes and warm colors
of a Renaissance painting, like an intention captured on grainy paper or
cloth. It is a prophetic moment;
it is our entire existence, all we have lived and have yet to live, all times
in one time, without beginning or end.
No comments:
Post a Comment