Yuko Minamikawa Adams

Giacometti in a Fridge

 

10 a.m.

the door is opened.

I step into the gallery.

I feel the air of fridge –

immaculate, intact.

Figures are standing

in this clear atmosphere.

They are thin, almost

emaciated

but still solid

like trees.

I stare at these people,

wondering

how they could cope with this chill

and silence

after visitors disappeared

last evening

and how they could wait

until this morning

when our body temperature

reheats

their space.

Turfalko

The veins of the journey

The veins of the journey

unravel into multiple

furrows

and our expectations kindle

beneath contrary forces

we are the stars

of a thousand branches

frail cracks

fractures

with golden glints

our marks

and our marblings

mineral

darkened by words

sentences

sketches

traces of time

calligrams

of our weaknesses

flaws and imperfections

thus

we write ourselves

Turfalko

Mists of dreams

Mists of dreams

or mists of heat

silence awakens us

through the shutters

mashrabiya

of shadows and light

on your skin

figures

of desire

glyphs

of our ardent wishes

carved into the body

a caress awakens our senses

a blackbird's song in the distance

and the wind in a soft whistling

carries to us the discreet delights

and the secret coolness of the palm grove