Poezja

Will you wait for me 
till the moon parts the clouds 
and the lake looks serene? 
 
A reticent encounter; 
I want to speak through─ 
silence. A shadow play will do. 
 
Mystic nights weave─ 
a conspiracy. The insects 
hover like words. 
 
A lamp? No I will 
burn my bridges to illuminate 
the river. 
 
Between the math─ 
and a story lies 
the bloody corpse.