as spring approaches, on my street

right before the spring's glow,

let us enjoy the gray once more,
and the hues of the monotonous hour,
and the low tide of the lonely,

unredeemed hope -

the imagined spring

our broken circles
our tears
the spring we had

long imagined

 -

now there is only stillness
where green should have thrust
its light, with a shiver

the quiet forest

the "i" removing itself, step by step, from the world

just by looking

just by looking at the moon

the real ceases to be the real

just by looking at the lily

the real ceases to be the real

just by looking at the crack

the real ceases to be the real

...

the Bridge will be silent for a while.




..

...

(the Bridge will be silent for a while)





.
.