a wind from God, golden, fragrant above the waters
grizzling waves, dark gray clouds, through the crack
the modest Capuchin’s bald pate, an ice lens refracts
shafts of light and bends them to a pinpoint – protoplasmic flames
blaze, flutter up to here
life in leaps and bounds, the worm flapped and flew off
the word slipped and rose on the third day
the word was not with God, it struggled in the corrida
with the bull, having stolen Europa from Lithuania
the author spider legless crusader, don’t call him
it will still proclaim, cooled on the balcony, will fly in
on the naked broom of projectors
the messenger from information’s inferno
the unbaptized woodpecker’s variegation
silver from time dead in the clock
near the amber sea
Vilnius–Šiluva–Rīga–Vilnius, 2005.XII.12–30
The Vilnius Review. – 2008. – Spring / summer. – № 23. – P. 57.