From letters to you

     FROM LETTERS TO YOU

...you don’t know what sadness,
to be far from you, now.

You don’t know how shameful
it is to be just "normally" healthy

and yet talk about myself.
What could I say?

I could only listen,
only listen to your voice…

Each sound of it wrapped
in echoes of distant

conversations of others,
in crackles and rustles of ether’s discharges…

This –  your blood, your blood
pulsed there unevenly.

It rushed toward me,
through the wires of our veins,

into chromosomes
of all kindred cells…

(...)

In a rusty booth at night,
like a sleepless Marconi in a radio room,

through all this hoarfrost –
into white snowy beginnings,

into the frost of the tube, I sent you
steam from living breath.

(...)

...your black ribbon
lies before me on my palm.

In the lamp’s circle –  an envelope,
and this sheet of paper.

If only I could! –
kiss your shoulders and hands…

If only I could! –
lean to your open lips…