5 may 2021
Thinking Off
The clouds hang on the strings.
I cannot dry my eyes.
Picking up the pine cones, on grass―
one by one, as the years went by.
How did I lose my home again?
Were there not footprints in snow?
The caladiums, you planted in
summer, had the crimsoned spots.
Like the kirmizi sun
dipping in lake one night.
21 july 2025
ajw
21 july 2025
wiesiek
20 july 2025
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19 july 2025
wiesiek
19 july 2025
ajw
18 july 2025
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15 july 2025
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14 july 2025
jeśli tylko
14 july 2025
wiesiek
14 july 2025
Jaga