a bread skin
and the steam that lets itself be drawn
onto the soles of the feet
in the house of many rooms
in every one of which I discern
an almost familiar sign
tied up with a ribbon of loneliness
the cold split up in tiny portions
is squeezing in between us things and people
yearning for some hot tea
the knees know there is a room
in which we are half-embraced
only that its threshold is a little higher
and overcome with joy
(poem published in the volume "catacombe. aici totul e viu" ("catacombs. everything is alive here"), Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2008, p. 6-7. English translation: Simona Sumanaru)
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