the world is a film over the eyes
before long the scalpel will cut it
seeing will be as hard as a getaway
from the body hachured over the heart
once upon a time there was a hand clap
near the stone behind which we were spying on the sunrise
your shadow sliding over me
melts the cry of a seagull
between the fingers wandering through the sand
next to us the deserted arcades get gilded
and the sky scatters around
tiny pieces of our lives
we knew from the start we’d go loveblind for a while
we are too much alike to be able to touch
a story you always run through
from the middle to the end like reading the face of a child
asleep in his mother’s arms
(poem published in the volume "catacombe. aici totul e viu" ("catacombs. everything is alive here"), Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2008, p. 48. English translation: Simona Sumanaru.)
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