A long time

There remains nothing any more but your face. Its large amazed eyes. Looking towards the sky. A disappeared horizon. I remember this light brush which drew us. Colors recovering us. It was, a long time ago. Our being erased bodies. In the stone mixing. You, hands united in a last prayer. Me, disappearing. Not existing. That by your glance in charge of hope. To re-examine me. Without being. I cannot reappear. On a transpierced skeleton of a branch of olive-trees. The arteries of my heart were traced. Blood being engulfed in a last beat. That which you carry with the eyes. To the skies. Your prayer carrying it. On the wings of the wind. Who will listen to it? I remember this light brush which drew us. Colors recovering us. It was, a long time ago. Who will look at us? Time passed. Year after year. Without never releasing us. Obstacles of the years. Pangs of cancer corroding us. There are no more colors. Of brush. For our greater misfortune. Able to return this happiness to us. To exist. One beside the other. Just to dance. To walk. On the wall. Gamboling. Unnecessarily. Silently. On the edges of time. So that lasts. Eternally. There remains to me only the memory. Sad to die about it. Of this light brush which drew us. Colors recovering us. It was, it is so a long time…