Curtains

by Petar Matovic

     for J. Hristic

In the night, if you go out to the balcony, you will not see the stars
you will not see anything. Because the balcony is in the city center, and the veil of
electricity has hidden flares of deep sky
objects, which maybe don’t even exist anymore.
Expanses are created out of vertigo, the image shudders
as if on an unstable surface, not without trepidation: if the edges
of the scene enter the sight, what is left outside? You hear the jugular vein
like an echo on a sonar. It is the same to harken the body and cosmos,

if you took deeper. The spark of a bang bears the remembrance
of the beginning’s shock; it wanders further, pregnant in anonymity
and witnessing. But a reflection is an unexpected incident
of the space change. The thought and smoke disappear equally: Immersed
in light as in darkness. The profusion of splendors is not left
without attention. The street brilliancy remains undiminished. Only
the curtains get thicker and better closed.