Each poem is a shoe,
and every second shoe is a poem.
There is a poem which takes you farther than a shoe.
There are pattering and scattering poems,
a poem which hurts your toe,
and in general
one shouldn’t wear others’ poems.
There are summer haikus,
long winter poems
and autumn pieces ruined by a single rain.
The young ones wear large poems
and usually the other way round
and they shrink even more.
Adults don’t tie their poem tourniquets.
New poems creak,
the old ones remain silent.
There is an escape poem,
a poem leading you home
and a poem you need to slip off before entering,
to wear a soft, shallow, rhythmic,
a totally different poem.
To check the quality of a poem,
you don’t need to burn it’s leather,
just stand in a street and whisper: “I got lost.”
Translated by Paweł Sakowski