Condensation hugging
windowpanes,

city streets that drink
the rain.
_

Roots that grip firm
Mother Earth,

the steeple there that
enshrines the church.
_

Cobblestones that grasp
the ground,

a mother embracing
her child found.
_

Shelves that support
a thousand books,

an urban city that
houses crooks.
_

A hand that grips
that of its lover,

the Muezzin’s croon,
that calls all to prayer.
_

Everything around
has something to miss,

that without which
it could not exist.

Sierpień, 2015
Warszawa, PL