Sunday, April 13, 2014

And if I, like Jaromir Hladik,

the writer in Borges' story
was given one more year
to live - but completely still,
no breath or body moving -
and the firing squad waiting
to kill, I would fall in love
with one of the men in the
squad, and throughout that
year read the lines on his
forehead, the creases on his
sleeve, the skin of his hands,
and find, from the colour of
his face, whether he is kind
or cruel, and by the time I
could be in love fully, a year
would pass, the bullet from
his gun would come at last.

(thanks to Jorge Luis Borges)

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