Poezja

We are burning― 
the boats. 
Freckled in the sun. 
The river was drying up. 
 
The stupid moon, 
will not listen, was 
in love with lake. One 
day the water 
will flow. 
 
Do you believe in 
rebirth of a universe― 
from the fallen 
debris of life? 
 
The dead man will 
walk out from the shroud, 
to reclaim, 
the lost integrity.