When I want to write long sentences
I always begin to think that
from an ordinary rain
I would like to make a storm.

In the time when I want to
raise myself into few words,
I think of you and then
I have no enough paper and ink
to describe just your hair.

I slip sometimes with the mind
like wine which slowly
becomes part of each body and
touches the brain like every drop of blood.

In the life of the unwritten words
only the book cover has an illustration
of the everlasting spring hidden
under the blanket of the snow.

illustration by: Christina Mrozik