Poezja

A poet's eye
sails from room to room.
Do you know which wall
opened to devour my love?

I had wished to see
the femineity of moon risen.
It had burned my
lips like cinders.

In very dark time
big China roses were waiting
to honour the anonymous
author of gravity.

I don't hear your
voice in cloudburst.
Fragile poems will cry―
if you don't open the fist.