On the snowy field furrowed by blizzard
with pale drifts you come
sliding on a sleigh of sentiments
from mountains grounded up by frost
towards the lake where the moon washes its metal
a white path flawless carved
hither now and then
let's have a wander: to stay for a moment
up on the hill in the silvery forest
above the smog
from city of glass and stone
which I left
without ever going back.
Knife a Heedless Heart of the Day
Here is the afternoon!
The sun is stuck in a hard orange peel
a bird cries
the sweetness of the syllables is a dewdrop
on a leaf.
A beautiful life.
My blood is loaded with them.
Crossroads of words
friends intolerably bright
in search of their own navels
each saying whatever they believe they should say
with a mathematical logic of reduction
wherewith odds and ends are burned.
The multiplication table is smashed into smithereens
someone is killing the sins the fears
the common places the boredom.
The knife – a heedless heart of the day
cuts the bread.
Fish and wheat. The promise.
Roads on which are returning
hungry children at home
while others eat galore
from their scarcity.
flips my clarity.
Oceans are pools of water
are splinters of flint in the forbearingly grass
winter's a village covered with flour.
the stars the traffic lights.
Buffalo and foxes are running
on a half full moon
a nightingale is filling the void
with its golden aorta.
The guard lit its lantern
the hunter recognizes
Nobody saw me crying
though my sadness rakes my temples.
Morning comes as a blow to the plexus.
Dorina Brândusa Landén © 2013