Many waters flew down in a row.
I couldn’t see my traces anymore:
barefoot child footprints, hoofs, wagon wheels
piling up like volcano cinders drifting in the wind.
People had a shrill voice,
a kind of old knife blade stuck in dry earth,
they were coming home with dust in their collars,
the moon’s craters were no more visible.
I began to drink water only from a spring source
carrying it at sunset in a cold pitcher
its shadow was trembling as I walked by
along with my too long shadow,
like two brotherly waves.
For a time I stood close to the ground,
a butterfly wing on a broken earthenware,
feeling my heart growing bigger,
its walls withdrawing inside it,
a bulldozer overturning the rubble.
I was hardly breathing,
compressed by demolished bricks
detached from their foundation.
Like a well without chains
I couldn’t cry anymore,
all my tears were lost.
Around rooster’s wake up
two gray trains collided,
the passengers forgotten on a long list
in the church service
dreams’ barrier broke below them.
It was raining again.