Poezja

Being set on fire
my fantasy, my vision.
Something that should not have happened.

Latched to heritage―
the touch of faith brings
sharp harpoons.

Not easy to forget
an elegy I made for unknown.
Will you come to throw the dust?

Cannot punish you
for my sins. A humming bird
crashed this noon on my deck.
A square face peeps from behind the tears.

September had been always
harsh. This month I had decided
to falter.