On Some Days

/, Blesok no. 95/On Some Days

On Some Days

The day filtering
Buzzing flight
On some days
Apple and blackbird
Every day
Our own breath
We meet inside

You lean against the poplar, against its upright
rustling. The river flows peacefully past you,

complete in itself, like a swimming prayer.
A name is scratched on its trunk. Perhaps

it touches an annual ring beneath the bark
or some other way in which we think ourselves

into reality with a metaphor.
That famous smile is also registered

in poplar wood, thin and complete in itself.
When that smile was stolen, lots of visitors

crowded into the Louvre to see its empty
space. On the water the reflection of the poplar.

You find it difficult to say where you’re staying.

AuthorJürgen Nendza
2018-08-21T17:22:39+00:00 May 15th, 2014|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 95|0 Comments