YHA-NTHLEI

These are the rooms we have left, where no sound echos, no songs tissues smudged with make-up of forgotten shows weapons laid our youth hung up high glasses empty Yet I am here I hear across the starfields constellations we uncharted

To her, who still hears the music of the spheres, remembers the light of some different moons, her silver laughter cutting through this August rain, tiny wet footprints she left  on my soul The flame of my waters, the milk of my bones. She walks fearless, wild child of forgotten gardens daughter of the forest. Her world is now mine, mine hers and we walk hand in hand as time stops frozen now, now, now is our playground though night sits heavy with the scent of our tomorrows.

This morning I walked through a field of tulips, wilted flowers with first damp earth of spring upturned beneath my bare feet, and dead beetle wings. And I walked, and I walked to the mountain whose name no one knew. And I hoped, on the other side I would see the world I once knew well. No tulips, no upturned earth, when we walked in silence embraced by the cold spring. When all could be, and nothing could be real.

I live in the south, but my heart is in snow Way up north, where the trees never sleep And sometimes I dream of ice and of that other sea Deeper. Not so ancient. Or ancient in other ways. Unknown and dark. What am I to you? Freshly ground pepper. A sound of crickets in the morning. Rough skin of oranges from the garden. Freshly washed laundry. The one always too slow on her bike. And then I'm not falling. But everything else is falling around me while I stand still. Even if I am firmly on the ground the world around me is falling to pieces. All the lives we've had are gone. So we are careful what roads we take. What rocks we hide behind.

It is that time of the night when the wax gets thinner and I long for your touch. I would lie to say I miss you now Like it was not true when you were here I've always missed you, knowing how short our time would be. My parents work night shift these days picking up pieces of their youth orange peel, sugar, Christmases we had. And those we never will. I know boys living in a wooden box. Lead soldiers, some whole, some wounded. Nameless now. I store the box under my bed to keep my dreams for you only. Only you know those quiet spaces where Moon touches the water and sets it aflame. For you I leave the window open even in the rain. Plea

in the end are we just circles that have touched and then vanished and I'm falling thinking of the sound my body will make when I dive in a splash that will not change the stillness of the ocean except for that brief moment in time. thin smoke in the light of his lilac dawn zagreb, grey as ever the sound of the first morning tram on my birthday the year is 2005 I had it in me, even back then when the world was still ripped piece of map, not a sheet I baptize with lovers my soul was a chandelier waiting to be lit my soul was christmas lights out of season but I kept my wet fingers away from the plug.

You lead the way through the ruins, poppies and grass for my caravan of salt. This land knows me from before by footprints or dreams, whatever. You call it yours. And my wildflowers cannot bloom in your nights. All my rivers flow south. And we flow south, to each other. We meet unready, like two ancient scriptures. We read each other, while the Books are closed and the words come alive. As we do. Where are you now, my Moon Gods whisper in the fields summer's coming. Your body by the pale window light is still there, for others the time has passed. Mine next to yours, around it, inside it. Choiceless, we remain u

the last night I clutch silence to my breasts like a lover. the morning comes unforgiving. cool air, cigarette smoke. goodbyes. I wander around, breathing city in like his perfume. I had lunch at Kismet, hoping. I parted with all of my pride. Miracle happens and there is coffee and sun and the sea. Nearness. And once again goodbyes. I'm tired and alone in front of 40 strangers, and all I want is some peace. Next day it begins. Vacation. A golden ticket in my hand. For fairy (chimney) land. And goodbye once again. Moonlit, lunatic goodbye. Until I wake in a land of dreams. Dozens of hot-air balloons. And after

So now, after all how do you deal with silence? We have swallowed those screams and the road up this mountain is as endless as ever. It is no surprise that there is no one around and the air is bluish our hair seems darker. Are we dreaming? The trees of apples are out of our reach and the sea is far behind. White sails are mornings foamed in our memory. Your hand in mine as barefoot we walk alone as always. Moon birds sing golden the cool lake listens.