Poezja

The dust blends with 
the humid specks. 
Smoke twirls. Hangs for a 
while, and then departs. 
 
Something was burning far away. 
Inside me also. To ashes. 
I release the crematory. 
It was over. 
 
I will scatter the years, 
spent with you. On a sand bar. 
Where we stood when tide was 
low. Now it is overwhelmed, 
 
the bank. The seagulls don't 
leave ther engraved, gender signs.