Every time I return I notice

I become stronger, more beautiful, and slightly wiser

And that distant star is distant no more,
the one that glimmers in the eye of a dog wandering through the streets
The poplar sways. The dark river departs.
A dreamlike life begins with the moon upon its forehead.

The darkness is warm and dense, tender like a dream,
and when a drop of light falls from somewhere,
even a stone understands that the day is inevitable
and the only thing our eye can hold.

Shadows waver from wall to wall,
then all rush toward the white stone
and carry the heavy turning wheel out of sight,
rolling across the earth, hugging without sound.

The whispering and creeping, it all turns silver
breath softens in the earth and lands,
footsteps fall and melt like dreaming:
a dreamlike life begins with the moon upon its forehead…

[my grandfather’s poem]

Zrak