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prose poetry

cade ca seara
cât de sălbatică, cum de vrajitoare ca ciudat că viaţa ar trebui să se
dar nu pot să vă citesc acum
atât de căzut
cu adevărat
ca vulturii pe sus de mare
de bucurie şi de mirare
fii atent la stele, dragostea mea
frate, eu sunt de foc
el nu vorbeşte de bine
şedinţei sale în leagăn de aşteptare pentru ceai
un pic de piersic a crescut în livada

 



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