It risesin spirals of grasstwice a day,usuallyat the same hours. The hoofed bellsfrom the mountainsshatter the night’s edge,sending the milk flowinto circular songs. When you look atthe rows of labeled boxes,remember the starswrapped in prayers,the dreamswrapped in moonlight,the cows,and the tide.
Nightfall.Wind and snow.I’m freezingon empty streets. Wounded,my thoughts scatter,turning corners,shards of ice and glass,memoriesfadinginto nothingness. Moonlight.I’m breathinga city full of ghosts,crumbling songsalready vanished,already long gone. A final deep breath.Soon,I shall sleep,I shall turn intoa ghost full of cities. (c) Marian © Marian C. Ghilea, […]