The Red Window(A study of a man and a woman: Section 1)

He looks out of the window to his room and watches her as she watches the sky. Her silhouette is smudged against the darkness of this still hour. It is a little before dawn. A little before the sun will inch through the sky. The lines of her face, her neck, her breasts, her legs...singe the surface of the sky. One form of the dark on another.
Ahe stands in the alcove of a red window. He remembers the window. He remebers it on a chapel in Italy, where the sacred and the profane, had made love. Somewhere, somebody had burnt. Willingly.

He sings a song to himself as he watches her. Words and syllables carefully avoid the music that she brings to him. He prefers the unspoken.

Smoke rises in the distance. Somewhere, somebody had burnt. Somewhere, the spark had survived.It unfurls like a scroll from a distant memory, trespassing into the silence. Trembling.

She trembles too. Because she knows she is watched.
And she comes to this balcony at this hour, every day. Day after day. Because she knows she’s watched.

And nothing is said.

For nothing must be said.

Silence shall be the music.
And silence too, shall be the noose.

And nothing is said.

For nothing must be said.