we are bordered by appearances
welded to the fear of the encounter
there is less and less ground beneath our feet
still it can contain many voices
of a system-resistant intimacy
we’ve lost a lot of light
in this shipwreck dictated by a crumbling of things
that cannot be learned, only received
when Jesus’ love draws us toward
limbs of life
the price of every conquest is a prison
we lock ourselves into, sick with the desire
the doors would open on their own
some push their way to the exit painted on the wall
but they can’t see a thing
besides the fretwork carvings
left on their bodies after the survival lesson
(poem published in the volume "catacombe. aici totul e viu" ("catacombs. everything is alive here"), Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2008, p. 74. English translation: Simona Sumanaru.)
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