Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Cobolt [Ten Poems]

August Images

Images conceal themselves in August. I wake, rise from the wheelchair and burn. I think of us, walking side by side where nothing could touch the lake sparkling underground in the depths seeds germinating in silence at their margins where we could sleep.

The hills and forests above the dark green iris insinuates the caress of refracted light on skin cooled by wind at night. Cranes of the day crush any thought and the debilitation doesn’t drive nails through our spines, it drives us considerably apart.

We won’t end up in a paradise or a hell, my love we’ll crawl carelessly under a rock waiting for thunder.

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