photo: Elena Popa
one day you painted a golden flower
on the TV screen and since then
I haven’t turned it on
sometimes we sleep in separate rooms
we learn to pass through the walls
in the morning your hands are filled with steam
as though you have just come out of me
with the sky half-dipped into the blue mud
sometimes we take walks
until silence throws us out of ourselves
and we pull the miracles by their ankles into our room
until the air has the consistency of amniotic fluid
and there are no more spaces in between us
for the words to be uttered or buried
like wings too heavy for
the fall into God
(poem published in the volume "catacombe. aici totul e viu" ("catacombs. everything is alive here"), Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2008, p. 52. English translation: Simona Sumanaru.)
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