(photo: Diana Popescu)
1. the castle
Surrounded by ditches, with embattled walls and war machines,
the castle unimpugnably rises beneath the sharp cry of the seagull:
the shadow of a child bursting into tears, his cheek wiped by the wind
and the greenish foamy hand tracelessly carrying this sand –
all that’s left is a fistful
too weak to close when our bare feet light up the colors of twilight.
I laid the light in your palms as if it were a baby swallow
that fell from the nest, heart pounding and shaking under your caresses.
It won’t eat, it longs for the blue nest...
the sun flies nearby with maternal restlessness.
2. the storm
The sandstorm looks for me in your arms at sunset,
twisted in non-white like a page with a burning corner.
Out of breath we bury the light inside fir-tree needles.
Sometimes a nearby shadow, abandoned between sawdust lips,
sighs for the hand that has detached its wings.
We playfully untwist our traces, hide inside tree caves
until the branches raise towards the sky and the echo bounces back,
hitting the water like a wounded hind.
3. in Nichita’s style
I don’t know how you took a corner of me when you left
you looked at me, yet there was nothing you could do
your feet had outrun you and your arms
had come off your shoulders towards the white angel
the world had cracked like an eggshell, words were running away
and God’s look was pouring over us
(poems published in the volume "catacombe. aici totul e viu" ("catacombs. everything is alive here"), Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2008, pp. 23-24. English translation: Simona Sumanaru.)
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