The microheads of the daffodils on the window sill,
a bunch of
birch trees in a decent distance, a colony
of fir trees further afield. The clouds, fluffy and kind of greyish
instead of
pure white, and the pale blue background
of the sky,
uninterested in making
a lasting impression.
A memory of
a plane trip: the sky unnaturally
at an arm-length distance; then a sudden
switch
of logic: a
human presence above the clouds, turning
the order
of the world upside down.
The Penguin
Dictionary of English Idioms on a bookshelf.
The black round
velvet cushion facing the room
with its
unembroidered side.
A white
canary in a half-opened cage looking up to
an old
black raven on a woman’s head; the woman, naked-
-breasted, sitting in an armchair on the red background
of a framed
picture, her left arm much longer
than the
right one. A piece of a poppy-seed cake cut
in two, a
silvery knife like a lightning or a stainless-steel river
between
two mounds;
a small
blue cup on an empty square
of a white
plate; three long red peppers
crowded in
a fruit bowl with cucumbers and
lemons.
A title in thin golden letters on a book spine
saying Lost
Geography. The prospect of
a train
journey, postponed, to Vienna.
Coffee in a
mug brought from the Orkney Islands
dark blue,
with some undecipherable promise
at the very bottom.
