thumb

I woke up sleeping just as  in the childhood

With the thumb to my lips

Like Jean Paul Belmondo

 

Outside the window

There was nothing left

 

The fog had packed the town in a suitcase

All the world in a suitcase

Al the theatres of riga all the godardes and hermanns

And had brought it away

 

Where from the white heaps

Some rare trees

Those who have planned to blossom the next year

Eat and nourish

 

But i did’n know

Neither dawns or evenings

Neither any right paths

All the exits where replaced with

Entrances only

Door jambs white as pain

 

And also in dreams

Nobody will come offering a white

Smoke of a pipe

And you’ll get really afraid that

Possibly –

 

That’s all there is

 

That much of an outside

The edge of the world by your window

 

That much of a silence

And you can just choke

 

That of a stillness

How much you’d have liked to dance

 

And that of a solitude

Moveless as a Universe

 

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