How many poems sleep in dictionaries
buried like needles in hay
How many poets not yet born
rolled in tight webs of confusion
How many tender confessions there
How many small unkindnesses
How many games

And what unexplored
deserts of silences

(after Anna Kamieńska)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s