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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2004-01-16 | [This text should be read in romana] |
Praf de aripi de inger
presarat prin cimitire uitate de vreme, pietre prea colturoase ca sa incapa in luna, ciment batatorit acoperind pietrele, stafii rugandu-se sa se faca lumina din praf si stele sporovaind la un ceai despre atata noapte prefacuta in soare. De parca ar auzi cineva teama pietrei de-abis sau in ce mod ar vorbi vreun clopot de mortii ce l-au facut sa cante in amurgul bantuit de stele si ciori, despre cum praful devine lumina si noaptea zi de parc-ai avea atata rabdare sa intrebi soarele unde-i e noaptea.
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