Vladas Braziūnas

a bright night, warm and gentle as the insides of your thighs, you will sleep through that morning, wake in the day, wait half the sleepy night with me, outside the window snows will blow as they blew, in gusts, outside the window cold hands of cold touch the apple trees' white skin, the half-empty garden stretches across the expansive noticeable expanse, dry the white scrubbed linen sheets of dead mothers, heavy and slow, their flowered dresses, rarely dreamed of, rustle dearest, my dearest, you give me a gift of me, feeble and dirt free