The blue of other beginnings

***

To describe how you believe is difficult:

When I hear church bells on Sunday morning in Italy,

I want to stand up,

Look at the wrinkles, landscapes, mimics

On icon faces,

To put a slow gaze into the air,

As if living an eternal question,

I walk around the kitchen and I’m mute for breakfast,

The actor of Rublev comes to my mind, in Tarkovsky’s film,

Solonytsyn

– for months was silent,

In order to “live” the role, time ago

the churches were, if I may say so, alive.

They had their own existence:

They were built, painted, robbed, decorated and restored,

New cupolas were added,

Now they stand still and make me,

When the bells ring,

Want to stand up and write a poem –

An attempt to pen down

Questions

To which I have no answer,

To describe how you love is difficult,

Love is a feeling that fills your whole living

Environment:

No less love than in me is in Sunday bells,

The angels-echos of which fly between the mountains,

No less love than in me is in old olive trees

That can’t walk and stand in the same yard for centuries,

No less love than in me is in the rusty shovel

Shivering in the garden

Of a church on a Sunday morning,

In unison with bells, olives and my pen.