I had a long black coat. With it I stepped again and again against elongated black clouds. One day my coat turned into a cloud coat. Schwarz, long and oh so heavy I carried it to the attic and placed it there over an opened suitcase, who was still burning from the start of a trip that was interrupted at short notice.
Since I no longer had a coat, I got myself a shawl and tied it as a wrap gown, lang, black and heavy, around my body a dozen times. With the wrap, I then went against the clouds, drawn out and black. When my handkerchief turned into a dragging cloud cover, but oh so difficult. So I carried it to the attic and put my long black one, heavy cloth over the long black one, such heavy coat, who covered the suitcase there, from which it was still burning from breaking off a long-term planned trip.
I didn't have a coat and I didn't have a scarf, but because I had to travel, I took the long black coat, which was so heavy and the long black one, dragging cloth, that was just as difficult and walked with the suitcase, from which it still burned from the two successive ones, surprising occurrences; the departure and interruption of the journey towards the clouds. As a heavy cloud cover me, my rolled, long black heavy cloud cloth, the long black one, dragging cloud cover and the burning suitcase buried under them.
I am not sure, whether I'm still alive, or if I'm just hurt. I don't know either, whether they come, to rescue me, how they do it silently in the space between roof and floor. At least when I'm dead, they will lay coats and kerchiefs over me, so I, although dead, I am no longer exposed to further injuries. One of them will take the burning suitcase and make the trips with it, that I didn't. Und so seinen Durst löschen.
(22.8.2020)
Of: “Hier kein Dach – no floor there”
Agnès Varda: “Sans toit ni loi” (1985)