Again winter’s hand
Holds up this bitter capsule
Filled with black poison
Terrible yet so mild.

Biting it causes no revulsion
Or grimace – just calm
And strange solace
Unfolding in the veins.

Is it a new being? Is it you?
Born in this gentle collapse,
Put your hand on the nape
Of my neck – turn off the lights.

If I’m awake or asleep
This hand holds my head
And guides me to a dream
In the cave of your lips.

This is how I will live
Through winter’s deathly caress
A loving touch is a gift
Of faith and nothingness.

This work is used with permission of the author and is taken from Venedi – An East European Perspective