The Old Tiger Laughs

I painted

a tiger.

Its body

was thin.

Through its flank

the ribs showed.

One.

Another.

I started counting

and stopped.

I made the eyes

a little darker.

When I painted the mouth

the teeth showed first.

Fierce.

I touched the brush

to one side of the mouth.

Brought it down,

then lifted it again.

The tiger

seemed to laugh.

The teeth

still showed.

“So you

have grown old too.”

The tiger

looked at me

with its mouth open.

And you,

haven't you?

That was its face.

“Yes.

Me too.”

For a while

the two of us stayed like that.

I

touched the corner of my mouth.

Without my noticing,

the same side

had lifted

a little.

A person lives
by the body
before by words.

A bent back.
A lowered gaze.
Two hands.

Words
come later.
Sometimes they do not come.

Even so
the body remains.

The wind long faced
remained in the body first.