The Blue Period by Sausan Saulat. Image Courtesy ArtChowk Gallery
Every forty minutes the night watch
walks by the open window,
the slow progress of his rounds
traced by curls of smoke and sleep.
His whistle to deter thieves and agitate ghosts
an invocation to some goddess of light.
My lover turns and resumes oblivion
under a diamond mesh of sweat.
I sit up and drink in the darkness,
watching over his body.
I smell the alcohol on him, and my fish supper,
mustard and onion seeds still bright in my fingers.
In the sunless hours we let ourselves be watched:
by a guard, a lover, or the naked sky.
~ Josep Chanza
Josep Chanza lives and writes in Edinburgh. He was born and raised in the Mediterranean, and still misses the golden oranges in the autumn. He has been published by magazines in English and Catalan. He takes pictures of people and writes them poems here.
