To my daughter Andra
I’m digging a hole in the air
shadow shielded thickened coolness
the air doesn’t begin nor ends with it.
I’m digging a hole in the air filled with man’s pricey stuff
the soul is about to seethe out
quivering like a branch, marveling I do exist.
Only a blind man’s poorer than me,
both of us under a doubting spell
laying our souls in the hole with no beginning or ending.
Like a thief caught stealing,
wrinkling away while digging,
the light’s oozing over me, growing a crust.
My daughter’s next to the another temple
the light’s flowing within her like in a bottomless cauldron.
I exist only in my imagination, wrinkling away…
There’s light even in the hole, I’m reviving fruits in it sparks-like
who’s biting them cannot fall
I’m ripe with sleeplessness and ever so lighter
her soul replacing hunger and thirst.