A Mound

something in my language drifts between
stops denses in the bushes
of sounds that give meaning to images
they hide and shimmer in the hollows of the skin
until I stop sharing the closed parenthesis
the dot

I make you happen on pages
in grey matter filled with a different life
the sticky and sweet remnant of my former self
I emphasised the intuition checking the ground
under the feet of the borrowed hours
waning people sent back into a non-dream

waiting among fragrant flowers
in the chirrup of the poppies’ pulsating red
wool feels taut felted from soap
rubbed heat

nakedness of shoulders

the night permeates all that is good
and madly rushes somewhere

recognises the clouds before people leave homes
sign cards attendance lists
fit into a narrow opening
a sketched shape
the blackness of a man
escaped
through an unfastened button
if I said something authentic close

write to me

if I am wrong in formulating abstractions
to film music
I’ll wait
it could be different for once

I dziękuję Annie Błasiak za pomoc w redagowaniu w języku angielskim, bez niej, ciężko by mi było pójść dalej z tym wszystkim.