TRIPTYCH

I.

I am sitting

on a stool without a leg.

Closed eyes, I think.

My soul is slipping away.

It turned into a pink sticky jelly.

Now that I see it

I am surprised,

I didn’t think my soul

could replicate

the exact silhouette of my body.

My soul

out of me

seems a shadow,

only thicker.

II.

I fell

from that stool.

I lie on the floor now,

a wounded leg

my vision blurred

my soul condensed.

It is purplish now.

With my eyes

I look for my limbs.

They are dead.

III.

You are sitting

on a different stool.

You survived

even without feet.

You, my love,

that lost your soul centuries ago

without even getting a glimpse of it.

You’ll certainly live for long

with your skill to fly high

your ability of not looking down

of not drilling inside you.

You,

dozing through centuries

pretending to be.