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Estrangement
Only a flower immersed in its perfume, a face anchored in its smile, - -does it exist? doesn't it exist? lost; if you speak to it it will return, as if after thousands of years, perplexed, inept-it will not know its whereabouts, it will not know what expression to assume that will be a response. There is a praying stool of stone in an old, abandoned street. Every so often, at twilight, he walks down his marble stairway, he gathers wild flowers from among the rocks, he makes a wreath and he hangs it on his sacred image. Every so often some strayaway sheep stands there as if it is praying, chewing slowly, stupidly, the withered wreath.