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