14 lipca 2021
Morning Mist
A complex question―
it was. Why your
hands were trembling?
The body becomes
a kayak. You were sailing
alone in the lake of bluebells.
Elegy and epilogue
become one. I have come
to meet my humming bird.
Still suspended in
deathless space, the sun
wants to hide.
The revelation
was not to solve the enigma,
but to listen to inside.
26 lutego 2025
absynt
26 lutego 2025
absynt
26 lutego 2025
Yaro
26 lutego 2025
wiesiek
26 lutego 2025
absynt
26 lutego 2025
Marek Jastrząb
26 lutego 2025
absynt
26 lutego 2025
ajw
26 lutego 2025
sam53
26 lutego 2025
sam53