1. the tunnel
The dream abandons its wishes in the ossuaries,
you run towards the exit, they stand in your way
like a built-in tunnel you have to pass through.
With bare hands you cast away
the shadow that crumbled upon words.
Death is a withered snowflake
between lips and eyelids
when shelterless we crawl into God’s palms
2. restoration
A smokeless fire, the face ablaze yet serene...
not an ordinary fire, but a blue flame that slowly moves,
no burnt smell, only the cracking sound of woodchips
when they light up to heat the teakettle...
an amazement-wide moment, anticipation carved in a gesture,
then everything fades away into the fresh air.
Out of the shadow the features become clear,
resurrected shades are shining, further pouring over garments
the light like myrrh, the silence like a breath from Above.
3. the rough draft
life is often a rough draft
in which you scribble pieces
of a half-learned lesson
every now and then in an outburst of anger
you crumple it up and throw it around
but the words come out like an ant-hill
and turn right back at you
and she stretches like a child waking up
once more before falling asleep,
to drink in the end of the story
which you always write
directly in the final draft
(poem published in the volume "catacombe. aici totul e viu" ("catacombs. everything is alive here"), Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2008, pp. 14-15. English translation: Simona Sumanaru.)
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