photo: Elena Popa
the most beautiful poems are written
after poets finish their lines
and lie face-down arms stretched out
on the rug
the ceiling turns a translucent blue like a sky
impossibly close
they don’t even realize when the room fills with a smoke
clearer than air
they wake up on the burning rug
and cover it with their bodies till the flame goes out
there is only a heart-shaped hole
left in the floor
inside them a cross-shaped void
resting place
for God and the world
locked in an embrace
(poem published in the volume "catacombe. aici totul e viu" ("catacombs. everything is alive here"), Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2008, p. 61. English translation: Simona Sumanaru.)
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