I still see faces in the clouds which float over this wide
river, clouds reflected in the rippled surface of water constantly stirred by
the ferries and barges, sometimes, a cruise ship, inbound from some foreign
place or outbound to find adventure beyond my imagination to see.
I see faces in the sky I want to see, the wide eyes, the
perky mouth, the odd tilt of head, clouds looking back at me as if I am the
face they see reflected on the surface of the river.
I see her face most often, but not always, one of a parade
of faces moving in the upper air like people in search of salvation we cannot
find on solid ground, my feel firmly planted on stone that has stood here for a
millennium and will still stand long after the city across the river is gone,
after all the faces in the clouds and reflections in the water have ceased,
long after I am no longe here to see them or paint my wishes on them, all those
moments of memory, painted before me, above me or down below, filled with all
those things I wish for but cannot have.
I see the face shaped in those clouds, sometimes, even my
own.
