Sunken*Portraits*In*Evolutionary*Waters

Suddenly, from all the green around you,
something-you don't know what-has disappeared;
you feel it creeping closer to the window,
in total silence. From the nearby wood

you hear the urgent whistling of a plover,
reminding you of someone's Saint Jerome:
so much solitude and passion come
from that one voice, whose fierce request the downpour

will grant. The walls, with their ancient portraits, glide
away from us, cautiously, as though
they weren't supposed to hear what we are saying.

And reflected on the faded tapestries now;
the chill, uncertain sunlight of those long
childhood hours when you were so afraid. -Rilke



You are walking down a cobbled hill in Kiev where fresh portraits of archaic faces with royal fabrics draped over their immortalized bodies line the pathway along narrow curving streets of tall green oaks and petite Martini cafe’s. You look up to your right and see Rastrelli famous Baroque church adorned in green and lustrous gold, grounded like a masterpiece of consequent adoration. You look a little further into the clouds and feel a strange breeze whisp past your face, feeling your body trembling with a new fear for a pending knowing. You look down at your feet and see a river flowing silently and invisibly through the thick cracks of uneven cobble you’re balancing yourself on. You look up the hill a little bit to pinpoint the origin of



water, but there is none. It seems to be spread out everywhere you look, only catching a glimmer here and there, as they separate on a hard edge, but reconnect at the bottom of each rock to continue as a whole once more. You smile to yourself feeling all of the water in the city interconnected, and now you somehow in on their secret as they share their existences through one movement, with the hot sky ready to crash through, onto the anticipating bare earth you stand on, you are a part of a conscious thought bubble in the universe that is about to pop and happen!



Portraits of faces, from lost era’s and fallen empires now watch you as you walk past them, in a living silence. You are alive in this moment, and once the rain comes you will remain alive, while their faces will bleed like ink, through mazes of cobble down to the golden beaches near the river where their colors will run and topple over each other in a race towards immorality until they reach the shore, and then be swept away by the inhalation of a sharp new wave, where they join the wheel of evolution, and wait for their souls to shower upon us once more, wetting our minds with the possibility of their company and inner presence.