September 8th. Dear Rosa, I’ve been thinking for a long time about how it would be pleasant to write to you. But it is only today, facing the usual chaos in the office – no, it has not diminished over time – that I almost unintentionally wrote the date...
on her way to the witch gladly would I exchange these feet for the fins these words for the voice of the deep I ought to be the foam of the ocean, I’m walking again those slow painful roads – they said there would be pain in every...
through the courtyards – above the town-hill – along the line of lightning – behind the bird flying swiftly just above the window sill – wrapped in worn-out greenery under the cover of noon, I’m pulling closer everything that’s scattered, changed in rolling, releasing new shoots, gathering the roots...
THE YARD BEHIND THE BUILDING Nobody lets the children play there anymore, beside the garbage bins and tricycles, in the narrow space beside a low barrack, out of which come men in green overalls. Nevertheless, it is still, at least partly, an old-fashioned backyard: as testifies a double stand...