I woke with you on the windowpane
all distances sagging from your clothes
in a sonorous disorder of the day before yesterday

I seemed to be convinced by snowy facts
laying in memory drawers

they have the stillness of the blizzard
you whisper to me
everything poise through you
as if in a Dali painting
the past is a blooming tree left behind
on the highway of the moment
someone from the windowpane
might lure you with fruits
while being still titillated, woozy
dazed by the garbled taste of youth



(Translated by Luminita Suse)