There must be poems…

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There must be poems that make sense in words. And not only in words, but also in rhythm, in harmony between lines, in sudden falls and rises of the heartbeat. If the verse talks about flower or flame I want to know it with my skin at the same time as I read it with my eyes. It is this fine line of talking in words and talking in senses. Not falling into a simple word sequence, not boarding on a bank of absurdity. Moving with the flow where the rhythm is the air.

I open my eyes and all I can see is a wing of a bird. The wing is huge, the bird must be even bigger. The wing takes all the sky. And then it breaks and millions of small birds fly over my head. I can’t hear the noise of their wings, but I can see them flying frenetically. The birds in the wind. Wings covering all the sky. All I can do is keep laying on my back and look up at the skies. I smile. Then I laugh. Seeing so many birds at once makes me laugh. I laugh hard. I can’t stop. The rest of my life I will be seeing only skies with millions of birds flying over my head. All the birds look the same, little brown dots moving with the wind and covering all the skies. I do not like brown.

I realize that I will never see a human person again. The air on the top of my face and hands is hard. It weights like the earth and the rye that are under my back. I can move my hands and feel resistance in any direction. The substance is weird, invisible and dense. I am glad it is resistant. It is not like water. You do not swim. You move from inside. The air passes through your body and moves you up, or right, or left. Anywhere. My back still guards the heat of the rye field. I am over it now.

The birds are circling in the skies. I do not feel closer to this brownish flock. The sky is everywhere. The sun. I put my right hand over my eyes and before it gets dark I notice that my hand looks like a giant wing against the light. The air flows inside of my body. I do not need to breath. I become part of the air. I smile…

And you smile too because you know there must be poems…

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