L'aura del Campo

Four new Zmitri poems

Zmitri poems. No line breaks at this moment.

We were sick

We were sick. Me vomiting chunks of leftover lava, you spewing diarrhea and cold sweat. When we were better we took a look around at our crap — and left. But life had other ideas, moved right on in, said it owned the place... then bragged about being descended from the flesh of the gods! Us? We laugh for we know better. We remember that they are piss, s*** and vomit spiraling in a second rate galaxy around a no-name pinprick of a star.

© Kåre Enga [175.145.zm] (6.may.2018)

We stare into space

We stare into space with a desperation to escape but our energies were sent off in different directions. Now I wait for that cosmic connection, a moment when stars realign and your face appears as clear as crystal, as solid as the ice I remember, a glacier pulsing with new life.

© Kåre Enga [175.144.zm] (6.may.2018)

Across cold water

You were my friend who lived across cold water, the bridge swept away with the flood. I called out your name, Zmitri, sent messages by paper boats; my pigeons never came back. Only by the smoke of your hearth and the gossip of the ravens did I know you were okay. With my wings torn and feathers plucked I couldn't fly; I couldn't even find a raft. But I still called out, only to hear my echo. When what flows between us freezes solid, I will walk across.

© Kåre Enga [175.126.zm] (29.april.2018)

After the eruption... Vesuvius again...

Pressed in stone, bones entwined we wait for a resurrection, when our offspring, alien-to-us, unearth us and wonder how it came to be. It was simple I'd tell them. You were crushed by a rock, half-buried by ash; I refused to leave your side, Zmitri. There was no life before you, none worth living without you. I hugged you to my breast, my last breath a sigh.

© Kåre Enga [175.125.zm] (29.april.2018)

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