Poezja

Do not punish yourself
devastatingly;
as long as I am not
turned into stone.

The display must
not be invoked. Go gingerly
in the lake of two wills.

Grief should not be
grey. In wilderness you
will find the support
of thick-lipped ghosts.

Pithy muscles
back the yellow rocks enigma.
Moon always comes to sleep
in the arms of blue sky.

Not the pathfinder,
I would become your path.