Poezja

This is it, I want to say.
An acid rain falling each evening
and you, reading a poem
surrounded by flame – attendants.

Nothing moves farther than activism.
Conversation centers around the flares
on the surface of an orange sun,
a big hole coming up in the ozone layer.

You are an ocean, needs penetration
of inquiry. Running a relay race in
a big cage to keep the torch
burning. Clouds in the sky

objecting to full moon, coming up,
nonchalantly. Landscape rips – off
the ideas from the thorn
in the heart.