Poems August Running

Iar Verzi

love grey
sun-lover
give a year
and out of the woods
at the top at the gradina
is a road not rusked
without me still there
either I walked
or he walked
he was there
oh hey,
I am to be curt and I weep. 
and I'm
now o.k.,
observe
even then a cool 
senior
in a book,
a half minute once,
at a kiosk,
not me,
I care enough 
to try his sense,
his covery deal,
an all green distance,
a cool bargain,
maybe I'll know later.
I greet May, or
I'm not near him. 
l am print now.