Poezie

Ten bows

2 min lectură·3 martie 2015

Mediu

I miss wet steam of his nostrils.

That wise horse loved me.

There were (i)logic moves like on a chess board between us.

The non-sight would grope your senses

Your sincere strolls besides the odd poplars

Bobbed the obsolete romance

With the whites from the balcony

Black shoes with shoelaces / my too wise unicorn /

The apricots moan of unrepeatable burden

I'm afraid I still fear That Don Quixote will die

On a magical day in September

And that wise horse…he'll die with his eyes wide open

Smelling the bitter seaweed.

The horse submitted to being shoed

His mane plaited with ten ribbons

Was crying not to sacrifice a workhorse

All butchers at the slaughterhouse smell of lies or disease

Among us the horses run in their last race

There is no finishing line the winner will be shot for sure.

The horse is running with his wet nostrils

Love summer are burning at reticent flames

The pavement si spitting damp lava

The city thirst without horses

Requires a thousand years

As a thousand drops in the ocean

The horse is licking my hands straight

I have my coral eyes open / coloured fish in the ocean /

You move first. I am waiting a century a race or a step Checkmate

I will step beside loneliness since now.

002.116

Angi Cristea. “Ten bows.” Atelier, Poezie.ro, https://poezie.ro/atelier/angi-cristea/poezie/14066616/ten-bows

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