Page 18 - Reflectoem Magazine Issue 10
P. 18

so I dreamed a poem,


                  which I can't remember clearly


                  but I remember that when I turned gray


                  with the dawn


                  and it flew away, scared by the sound of


                  the alarm clock,

                  your hand on my pillow and those rays


                  around your eyes


                  and mouth, messy hair and your slightly


                  unconscious look


                  held me by my heel in our own morning


                  poem

                  probably better than the one in which


                  God was,


                   but whose lines lacked you





















                              Reflectoem Poems of   Malgorzata Borzeszkowska       17
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