luni, 23 iulie 2012

Wooden fingers

these wooden fingers
sigh no more,
carving out useful monsters from
brittle branches of truth.
I've never been much of a singer,
but I swear to you
that my winter nails
now play a tune
more gracious than a weeping angel
on a tomb!
dearest Heavens,how life is strange:
we plant a tree,yet we slay one hundred,
only to end up walking on
silent sawdust and filthy water...
we do what we must!
I'd rather dance covered in mud,
but my soles crave more and more
the gentle kiss of tightly embraced leaves
and lost fragments of bark...
every step reminds me of
the forgotten buds,
every bow stirs up the seeds
of an organic love.
these wooden fingers
of mine...

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