(photo: Diana Popescu)
1. without the cross...
moto:
’All things need to be understood
after the cross and the resurrection’
St. Maximus the Confessor
Without the cross, the world hangs from our necks
like a scaffold, Yes and No are
screechings of scissors through the paper of senses
and the body, a coin pouch in which
a starved star is rattling. The embrace is only a wound,
a fall into the gap between atoms, outer layer
under which death cannot perish
and two no longer become one.
Without the cross, words go blind and the chase
is an ongoing wait by the door,
when no one comes to entrust their soul into your palms.
Without the cross, gold turns to dust
and wine to vinegar on our lips,
while ecstasy bursts like a pricked balloon.
2. the sword-eaters
We seek each other like the arms of the cross,
the word pinned to our lips
descends – plunging wing
lifelessly touching the empty page.
Who will overturn the letter for us at dawn?...
We grope for light
like saplings ascending into the thicket,
we swallow the distance that draws us near
like a blooming edge.
3. the descent into hell
taken with the magic of nothingness we swallowed death
and dissolved into our own shadow
we can no longer fill in with our bodies
the distance between eyes and heart
the dark shivers when we look at each other
through Jesus’ transparent wounds
which we scraped not knowing why
and woke up outside of ourselves
with motionless hands we await
the touch that clothes us on the inside
in the unsewn shirt
(poems published in the volume "catacombe. aici totul e viu" ("catacombs. everything is alive here"), Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2008, pp. 25-26. English translation: Simona Sumanaru.)
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