Poezja

Unceremoniously―
you blow off the earthen lamp
after the night vigil.

Still stranger
to dark, you start self-destruction
in holy violence.

Was there any life
before death? You encounter
the crucified truth.

Now you wear the blue lake
to meet the moon―
in a forlorn sky.

I let you see
the falling star. It's heat
had savaged me.