These Days
I turn to the shadows,
to the sun that struggles to rise
in the sky and the moon that has sliced
a thousand small ears. I turn
to the bat that roosts
on hollow branches, I turn to the bird
that drinks on the wing. I sleep alone
these days, and rarely speak.
But in dreams, birds weave
my saliva into nests shaped
like brackets to enclose
all the questions I am
not ready to hatch. Teach me
to harden in the air I say,
waking up, pecking
my own face.
źródło: Read A Little Poetry
10.09.2026