The light of the paint
After the painting The Milkmaid,
by Johannes Vermeer (1632-75)
The milk that here falls forever
and flows as if it were true,
a liquid which the light of the paint fains
(and so completely) this afternoon,
drips slowly, stuck to the instant
(morning of a woman far from me),
in a different time, so distant,
that frees itself (an endless now).
She crosses (like the milk, she is light)
the space and the hours without spilling,
without giving herself to the outside –
only to our gaze, only to our gaze.
Concentration of a being within herself.
The milk here falls forever.