A dress

I waited endlessly
in miserable both – reality and dreams,
without yet escaping from the body.
I washed myself with water,
draining holy springs
of the Subconscious well,
as deep as hell.
I swallowed
a handful of the days
in a tough necklace of the words,
and dying still from thirst,
I begged God at the bottom,
“Just even for a while,
give me a ray of Light!”
Being forgotten,
I split the board of crooked schedules and
appeared in the palace, where
the trace of hopes vanished – the refrain
of viola was unchanged as pain.
Still, however,
here
I trembled like a leaf
in autumn winds
without fear
to fly away and fall beneath
into the nets of traps and ulcers
of such a hungry asphalt web.
A deb,
the young Moon,
as a pilgrim from Mecca,
hangs smiling not at me,
inviting all the wayward wanderers
to fortune-telling on the Tarot
by the Magi.
The eighth of wonders
of the world –
distress,
my Lord! –
that dress
is washed up to the holes,
but will remain, as curse,
– crosswise, lengthwise –
in fingerprints of yours.

July 16, 2009