15.06.2024 r.

The Missing Piece of Heaven

I have become accustomed to your time,

lost for millennia.

I smiled at the too clear sentences

that could bring faith and solace.

I'm writing another letter

that I will surely send to the wrong person.

I replicate the tenderness

that is at odds with touch,

that sways in the wind like a tear

hanging on an eyelash.

Your hands are painfully fragile,

the wind burns on the border between

your heart and your mind.

You know, I never learned

the human language; I still don't understand

the words people throw at me.

I have never known my own thoughts,

they are too far away for me

to give them the missing piece of heaven.

And when you put the red dot,

when you deny the tears - I will fall in love

with autumn, with too dark evenings.