Golden Morning

The sun rises
And invades my bays with golden shadows
My books awake on their shelves
Calling for a new exploration
Of their aging pages
Of their intricate emotional encounters
Of these characters I identify myself to far too much

Precious short-lived moment of the day
And of the night
It rains nevertheless
In my unappeased soul
Yearning for larger spaces made of sunset over seaside castillos

The characters of my literary souvenirs
Come to life
Lorenzo Quart errs again through the streets of Seville
Julia and Munoz play chess at the Parque del Retiro
Jaime Astarloa invents new deadly moves
And Lucas Corso searches his soul in mummified books
And finds it in Irene Adler

Golden shadows are dangerous
They evoke dreams
And dreams, as alive they make you,
Also burn you out
Or the other way round
We burn our dreams out
So that we can live

No, golden shadows are not that dangerous
They make dark shadows fade away
Even for a brief moment
For an instant,
At seeing so much light,
We are made to forget the depths of our unappeased desires and envies
Brief rest, but rest it is nevertheless
I can, at last, close my eyes for this night



Manchester, UK, 3 aout 2007