Ferit de ger Un vrej de g$ndcu papionm@ strive}te de cer umblasem ab@tutcu desag@ dungat@de om stingher ploaia tihnit@din clei de oasemi-a crescut aripi de ^nger a}teptasem inertpe plu} de u}io via]@ de echer schele de icoane^nfloresc ^n uleipicur$nd polen efemer m$zga rutineipe pantofi Gubans-a pierdut ^n z$mbet de jongler fereastra smerit@cu vi]@-de-vie }i mierl@m-a ferit de ger…                Frostsafe The stalk of a thoughtwearing a papillonis crushing me against the sky I've been wandering downcastmy striped bagborrowed from a solitary guy the leisurely rain drippingbone glue has grownme angel wings to fly I've been inertly waitingat plush-upholstered doorsfor a set square life to try scaffolds of sacred iconsare blossoming in the oil droppingephemeral pollen from on high the slime of routineon my Guban shoeshas vanished into a juggler's smile my pious windowall in grapevine and blackbirdshas saved me from the frost's cry…                Omul din cuv$nt Omul cu bilet de autobuzs-a uitat la minecu privirea216. Omul de peste drummi-a vorbitcu silabede peste drum. Omul din gr@din@mi-a retezat zarz@rulcu un s$mburef@r@ miez. Omul din clepsidr@s-a scuzat elegantcu secundape care mi-a furat-o. Omul din sufleta plecat ^ntr-un dreptunghiha}urat^n dungile t@cerii. Omul din ommi-a luat propozi]iilecuv$nt cu cuv$nt}i le-a mutat pe alt prag. Omul din cuv$nt^mi poart@ g$ndulcu o hologram@din ochi c@tre inim@. Omul de pe crucem@ prive}te ^n inim@cu o vocede spini.    The Man Within the Word The man holding a bus tickethas looked through meburied in oblivion no. 216. The man across the wayhas thrown at mesyllablesfrom across the way. The man in the gardenhas severed my apricot treewith a stonebereft of its kernel. The man within the clepsydrahas courteously apologisedfor the secondhe has stolen from me.                               The man within my soulhas departed in a rectanglepatterned with the hatchingsof silence. The man within the manhas seized my sentencesword for wordmoving them onto another threshold. The man within the wordis guiding my thoughtswith a hologramfrom my eyes into my heart. The man on the Crossis looking into my heartwith a voiceof thorns.    Autoportret Sunt ultimul mesteac@n suplu,cu coaja neted@ }i alb@ din parcul invadat de arbu}ti.Oamenii m@ v@d de la dep@rtare.Contrastez evident cu verdele ierbii,cu galbenul taximetrelor,cu pietonii multicoloricare nu mai }tiu s@-}i propteasc@ privirea de turlele catedralelor.Scoar]a mea se z@re}tedin orice col] al citadelei –am avut mare grij@de trunchiul meu falnic,din cel mai bun satin medieval.C$nd m-am ^n@l]at peste soc, peste liliac,deasupra gardului viu,peste brazii aclimatiza]i la ora},am sim]it c@ pot respira,mi-am ^ntins bra]ele lateral,^ntr-un exerci]iu de echilibru interior.Atunci }i v@zduhul s-a umplutde evantaiul ramurilor mele,vase comunicante albind spre cer.Simt c@ norii m@ privesccu invidie nedisimulat@.{i totu}i, prim@vara aceasta,am fost deranjat de prea multe oride ciupitul unei cioc@nitori.A l@sat ^n urma eic$teva perechi de ochi ^ntuneca]i.Trebuie s@ m@ ^ngrijesc !Trebuie s@ m@ ^ngrijesc !S-a ^nt$mplat ceva neprev@zutcu cotiledoanele, cu mugurii, cu seva, cu samarele…Colesterolul este de vin@…Frunzele trebuiau s@ fie livrate-n april,a}a era imprimeul original : satin alb,brodat ^n romburi de verde,cu ghirlande-aurii de amen]i solitari}i semin]e maronii cu-aripioare-pinteni…Sunt doar c$]iva metri de humus !C$nd nu eram atent,ciorile cu care m-am certat anul trecut}i-au f@cut cuiburi pe ramurile mele !Ar@t prea slab, dispropor]ionat de alb…Contrastez evident cu suneteleorologiului din catedral@.A trecut un sfert de or@ ? O jum@tate ?Prietena mea de l$ng@ Statuia Maternit@]ii^}i aranjeaz@ inflorescen]ele dinspre r@s@rit…Hmm, st@ cu spatele spre oglind@…                                  Self-Portrait I am the last versatile birchwith smooth white barkin the park overrun by shrubs.People notice me from afar.I definitely stand in contrastto the green grass, to the yellowtaxicabs, to the variegatedpedestrians who no longer resttheir eyes on cathedral spires.My bark loomsfrom every end of the citadel – I have taken great care of my lofty trunk close-grained from the finest mediaeval satin.In my ascent over the common elder, the lilac,the hedgerows, over the firs acclimatised in the city,I had the feeling I could breathe,I stretched my arms laterally, restoring my inner balance.That very instant the air was filled in with the fan of my boughs,arteria communicans gleaming greyish white to the sky. I am aware the clouds watch me with unfeigned envy.Even so, this spring I have beeninconvenienced too many times by a woodpecker’s tap.It has left behind pairs of dark eyes.I have to take care of myself !I have to take care of myself !Some unexpected thing must have befallenthe cotyledons, the leaf buds,the sap, the samaras…The cholesterol is to blame…The leaves should have been delivered in April, the genuine pattern was like this :white satin embroidered with rhombi of green,golden garlands of solitary aments,and brown spur-like winged seeds…It is but some metres of humus to mount !While I was mindless, the crows I quarrelled with last year nested on my branches !I look so thin, disproportionately white… I definitely stand in contrast to the sounds of the cathedral clock. Has time elapsed ? A quarter of an hour ? A half ?My girlfriend next to the Statueof Motherhood is dressing her inflorescencesfacing the sunrise… Hm, she is giving the cold shoulder to the mirror…                                   %ntre %ntre canaturile u}iisimt cum dreapta devine st$ng@,u}@ n@t$ng@, a}ezat@ la poalele crucii. %ntre sear@ }i diminea]@ascult cum g$ndurile pier, num@rate pe un ceas de fier            cu vise trasate-n rotring de cea]@. %ntre suflet }i autobuzul zileise }lefuie}te piatra de m$ine, decor de S@p$n]@ cu vin }i p$ine,pe-asfalt tricotat de talpa }enilei. %ntre p$ndar }i prad@perechea de-ochelari face-alergie,schimb gloan]e de lentile – o mie –,privirea de-azur st@ s@ cad@. %ntre u}@ }i dreapta cruciiochii mai fur@ din Vorone]ul milei,pietrarul ciople}te ^nc@ portretul zilei,iar colbul ^}i urc@-n spiral@ cl@bucii. Firul aortei,bujorul de p$ine,vocala din g$nd,focarul lentilei,cuiul de cruce –totul se duce…     

 In Between

Between the doorjambsI sense right becomes left,what a silly theft,gate slamming against battering rams. Between twilight and morningI hear thoughts perish,beaten by an iron clock in rapid vanish,counting dreams drafted with foggy rotring.

Between the day’s bus and the soul’s racks

the stone sharpens for tomorrow,S@p$n]a graveyard, bread, wine, no sorrow,on asphalt knitted by catterpillar tracks. Between spy and preyspectacles trigger atopic allergy,lenses fire one thousand bullets – dichotomy –,the azure look is about to decay. Between door and cross, on the right,eyes once more steal from Vorone] blue mercy,the stonemason still carves the day’s effigy,while dusty foam puffs spirals into the height. The aorta arch,the peony bread,the mind’s vowels,the lens focus,the cross nail –everythingpassesaway…