You are the truth,
and I — just grass.
Names burn in dry leaves,
unquenched by the past.

They cannot be extinguished —
so we live on.
Summer will whisper my love,
tell of this city and a girl
who’s lost somewhere above.

He spoke slowly:
“Death — just a little door…
It’s good it was left
by the sky’s absence. No more”.

The darkness spreads
wider,
wider,
wiiiiiiiiiider.

I lie back, staring
up at the ceiling
in a quiet room.
The grass keeps stealing
a beam from windowsill’s gloom.

And the only light
in the world
hangs silent, curled
by the window, furled.

16.05.2025