Faint Colors

A nostalgic poem about a lost love dream.

I should have written to you

a long time ago,

the rain hasn’t stopped yet,

it’s shimmering on a Sunday morning,

drops of ink fall on the paper

like in a hot milk foam.

 

My thoughts were benumbed that evening,

your words were quietly entering

in my ear’s shell,

freshly ground coffee beans.

I was startling, shining at once,

maybe you can still remember...

that cherry tree which I climbed

when the wind divided its top branches

filling my basket with fruits growing mellow

or that abandoned field

where I was trying to pull out a chicory

and keep it on my breast.

 

Talk to me once more

about the road with poplars on the edge

and the tall and golden rape seed,

about the lilac blooming twice,

tell me how you ran between birches,

autumn light was pale and rough then,

trees nearly touching each other,

rain humming faintly.

 

White and gray thin words

are dripping between walls

and in my sleep,

it has been raining for years.