as it may happen sometimes
I cannot remember if anyone came to support me
I did not have any lipstick kisses on my cheek
or probably I could not see them in the mirror
only my bamboo was smiling on the table
and there were bruises everywhere
all over the house
defined in the air as anger
but not strong enough to forget you
I am stretching my bleeding hands out to the phone
yells of triumph or hate
minuscule
smooth
calculations
the waiting cannot be divided
my thoughts have been woven as for a hardwearing rug
just for a second I am allowed to pull myself together
show me your bruises on your muscles
let’s see if we could read them in the same way
we wear them like open transplants
like big butterflies of the night
other drips from which I built my altar
an infant fed from them

I feel obliged to make a brand new day for you
that will look like this one in a better way.