Weave yourself into my word,
stay.
But the word is brittle, inflexible.
And you—
you are not fabric, not drop,
not a shadow sewn to the body.
You are not sound cutting through stone;
not light drowned in embrace;
not memory sparing the word;
not a key that opens the sky.
You are foreignness that wounds life;
a shadow that wounds the sunset.
Weave yourself into my word, stay
© Copyright: Даниэль Зорчин, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125032304020
Свидетельство о публикации №125032304020
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