Enlightened by our friend Jimenez Lai comparing Renzoe Box to a city, or a "patchwork of things," we wanted to share this poem about a city!
The impossible city is a city made of all cities.
It is neither a city of the future nor a city of the past.
It is a longing for the city.
A city of stone and a city of glass.
It is a city of spires and transparent abysses.
A city of rivers streaming into an expanse of blue.
It is a city of dubious beauty.
Yet also a city of staggering beauty.
A city of belfries harried by the screams of seagulls.
A city of evergreen hills and lucid water.
It is a city of children running down heaps of garbage.
A city of drowsy bays and flying men and opal lakes.
It is a city of sand and dunes, a city where the first and last human are covered in dust.
It is a city of convents, fig-scented gardens and singing mounts.
A city of redbrick castles with wide-open arms. It is a city of stone churches smelling of green water at sunup.
A city of saints.
It is a city of connecting islands. A city with only one weeping willow hunched over a promontory.
It is a city of minarets and violet towers.
A city of dreams long gone and lingering still.
It is a city stippled with gold and yearning for the sun.
It is all the cities you have seen and never seen.
And it is the last city standing on the edge of the world, a second before the sun slips into the water.