A Cliff in Norway

By the edge of a cliff in Norway,

three men are sitting on a bench:

one of them hasbegun to shout

at the man in the middle, saying

that he has made a great mistake

in publishing his book in French,

as it denotes that he has no concern

for who might understand it, even

if he has titled it Quelqu’un, as surely

he must have hoped that someone

exists to show any response to it.

But in the midst of his outburst, the man

is conquered by the other’s silence,

that offers no retort to his rebukes,

to leave him with the impression that

only that which is worth saying must

be chased regardless of its utterance.

Nevertheless, his rage, proportionate

to his veiled admiration, increases,

and with a shovel lying next to him

he strikes a sudden blow

at the man’s head, who tumbles down

the bench as if he’d been dead,

before he is thrown off the cliff.

Immediately regretting it, the man

can’t peek from the cliff peak, in fear

that he might slip to follow after him,

as he now has the feeling that he had

been witnessing his fall and not the man’s.

He rushes down a path by the cliff side,

to reach the man who is now floating

with his face down upon the surface

of the bright sea, girt by the boulders

at the feet of the cliff, on top of which

the third man verges to survey the steep

with a grim laugh that echoes through the rocks.

The man approaches the still body

to see that he’s alive and yet unable

to counter with hisstirs the lulling waves;

but by his side, upon the mantle

of strewing blood enveloping the water,

seven fishes buoy the currents to remain

immobile under his attentive gaze,

all of them shining with the glinting of

a precious stone, of different colors,

together mirroring in their array

the spectrum that revives the rain

with the arched smile of a sown rainbow

In his amazement, the man knows

that these are the seven planets, turned

into the notes that in all things are tuned,

to extricate from matter the commotion

that strings the firmament with the felt joy

of any single star reflected in the dance

according distances to resonance.

The man tries to reach out to touch

the biggest of the fish, whose shimmer

of an ignited ruby shines above

the rest, while giving them their lustre,

but he can’t grab it, and as he moves,

the water breaks in wrinkles that dismiss

the fishes from his vision.

In clear discomfort, the man turns

toward the body next to him, to see

for the first time that he’s the man

that laughed from the cliff top before,

to recognize him as his father,

who at his wonder smiles and says:

“Is this not the composition of the waters?”