from “Ljubljana,” 2004

/, Blesok no. 53/from “Ljubljana,” 2004

from “Ljubljana,” 2004

40.
44.
55.
64.
70.
75.

When abysses begin to summon the abyss,
small caskets lock themselves shut.
Thunder shifts hearth and heritage
that darkness should preserve the past.
We are afraid of lead and abstinence
we shudder in the face of light.
We are overcome with doubt and yearning.
We can no longer stomach bread.

AuthorMeta Kušar
2018-08-21T17:23:09+00:00 April 14th, 2007|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 53|0 Comments