Poezja

You decline to speak-
to listen-
to see
like a meditating Buddha.

Like a sunflower
with moon seeds,
ready to explode at sunset.

Strangulated-
neck, hanged from a tree
to tell the tale-
that you were violated.

This was the principle of
cosmic order. Poor god
waits for the world
to show the rage.

I wake up the tree.
Leaves fall like unspoken words
from the decaying oak.