Being shifts
as if it remembered.
From moment to moment
It stretches itself into otherness.
Like a strand of hair next to another,
It caresses its slight bones.
It offers us consciousness,
Phantoms of sensuality,
A remarkable magician and a thug,
It fondles us with silvery fingers of
its daily games
into non-seeing.
It is up to us.
- Bronislava Volkova
