Valeria Moro ~ from the hips

from the hips a slow heavy movement, a movement that sounds as cement, dense dust compacts the knees, a movement oscillates.

limbs

oscillating pushing legs made stone, dragging, into the center, into the bottom, to the inside,

a moment becomes fog and disappears. blown stone dust.

light

on forgotten postures, faces, layers of skin, carrying the remembered

shadow

that forgets and forgetting perhaps untangles, again. and once more,

an open window

and, untangling, perhaps reappears, alive, dense, returns, flesh

sweating low beats — beasts

an instant, dense liquid, again, and again an instant, a not ready to let go instant, disappears, gone already

who sees and murmurs and whispers a tearing voice still having nothing,

a voice in movements, seeming still, comes to call and calls and comes and calls

waves, pumice, caves

descend into the floor of something feared sought not affirmed, again, an instant

comes to call and calls and comes and a name calls and goes.

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