Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Constantine Severin

VIII

bound by this sky as the leaves themselves I find myself quiet and serene a body of light silence and plant sap of vibrating music and flower I am the shadow between two senses the adjective inside the wind of old stars with letters eroticized by wounds’ petals I love you, thousand-folded blood of ours pollen of my breath being away from you my verse fractures along the rope of return my hand through which the hour’s marrow flows descends into your celestial vowels’ fire like those nests pressing their precise ivy from these lines of thought

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