florin caragiu

You bide near to the squat boy. He shrouds his voice wobble quaffing the barley decoction, and bending his face towards the cradle in which his minor sister cries and smiles. The amber from

A slender blot of light slipped on your face and you woke up, trying to recall a voice. The hands are looking now for a thin cloth, lips are wavering in the night. Things appear unclear,

Some smiles ago we were children, our brushes were sweeping clays, we could get lost in the rain, but flustering words were hastily spent by the seashore sight, as breath was curling the

did you see how all these years have split in a red wall and a highway? we could save nothing, we only got time to remind the light’s early hug and the broken silence. you are spending

the plane will get off the ground and we’ll sow fire in water in the memory of the frozen magnolia, all movement will turn round as in a dance, afraid of the leap into the clouds. I never

wir warten auf die stolzen Gewänder des Abendlichts Holz, Steine und Sand sprechen über die niedergerissene Einsamkeit einer Sache, in Ruhe gelöscht, wie in einem Traum die selig gewordenen

love is an ice waterfall with your hands in as you catch the fire wings and let them sleep on a light pillow you switch off my words and the childhood begins to grab a wonder. no matter

I sleep on a waterfall. I am writing on water. For you I write with my blood and I fall asleep on a waterfall. The night is a waterfall that keeps the rhythm of your breath. You are a ball of

as you look at the trees they flourish red it\'s a painful morning as we go afar and suffer the reflected light in the snowfield we are walking all day long and we don\'t utter a word because

in a corner of the room the pulsation of light continues all night long the walker sleeps without pillows he is preparing your dream-colors for a painting session I see a row of

have you seen today the papers leaving the desk with a tricky appearance? you translated their fever in our language and it seemed the long story of the recycle bin can be a weapon in the

between us there is a rope of light we pull it and throw earth on the surface of water fixing the tent is a question of harmony we eat roots and we feel a heart nearer your read hair is keeping

We walk along white cliffs and look at the birds dancing on the wires out of town the night is growing in your arms pouring the remnants of light on the leafless branches the world is drunk

even if you are far the soul has a shorter way as the mere biting from distances we need no signs for this nonlocal combat that spares our image in which the whole space rests the only

this territory is wild, we don’t see how it happens to feel the missing link of our silent future, tell me how it is like to be you, what are your lips murmuring in sleep about the childhood that

wild bones of distant art what earthly bliss have in command? if I go mad what harp will broke its strings of sad? Whose strain will turn the time of duller steel than veiling care of

there is always a trap in front of our backdoors which trying to send us in the far distance lets our thought collapse

while tears are raining stillness grows mystery opens – my words leave no trace upon the blank file until the myth unfolds its deepest wells the spell of thousand bells pray that I