suddenly the roofs are turning blue
the night has tucked itself under a snowy shroud
the answers to our questions are spilled in dark ink
I rest my head on the stone of some other country
my love is asleep in the next room
where black trees and black birds grow
blurry and unreliable words rest on evergreen leaves
soon he will wake up
his gouged-out eyes will glisten in the kitchen
on the cold tongue of silt he will declare his love
for distance
for that flickering flame
but for now he is still asleep healing the wounds
with water from the night organ’s bellows
the night has gone a bit too far with its blackness
the insomniac household members turn up their darkened
palms
EN 
MK