Poezja

Your skin was involved─ 
in recent string of shadows, throwing 
the white shrouds on unknown 
faces. The visibility 
becomes a threat, plying like a black river 
via stone links. 
 
Your muscles twitch and 
convulse. An invisible hand 
writes the judgement. A silent 
November looms large. 
I will wait for the snow to 
fall silently on the sun-dial. 
 
Like silent shedding of petals 
counting the dew drops on grass. 
A tree of bones walks 
from death to death. Me standing 
on crossroads, on the moon’s path 
trying to learn the mistakes.