A girl returns from the mountains
with a handful of snow. All day
I have sat in the garden, drinking tea.
I have dozed beneath oak leaves,
shivered as shadows climbed my back.
She places snow on the table where my
blue cup rests, offers a soft leather
bag filled with wind, top bound with
leather strips. She moves her tiger
body close to me, her face red and vivid,
her white breath thick as fog. When
she tosses the bag in the air, it floats
a little, like a balloon at a child’s party,
but spilling voices moaning from
a long way off, so many green teeth
hungry in early summer grass, so many
tongues: voices of sailors and sea birds
and women who combed the sky for stars.
Photo By: Matei Domnita