below the surface

I turned the lights off in the greenhouse; turned the plants into picturesque silhouettes. Their artificially sharp edges cut through the blurry gray asphalt. And I know the gray is an illusion of grains, black and white pebbles packed together, refusing to melt and form…

Walls run towards each other                                      and meet in the middle, cut each other off. They reach into the room like a pillar, they carry floors and hide what is on the other side. I cross their path, walking by a little too closely. I pass by…

My flowers wilt after two weeks. Three stems are left in the vase, three stems left from a meadow. Some flowers lost their petals, and some dried up, even though I changed  the water very carefully every day and carefully cut the stems, I didn’t…