Luca Menin


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Park

Muddy steps of raven's heads
Fasting of mould bread
crawling, like wood worms of storm
Hunted by passes of moon golden rocks.
Not here yet, but dear so.
I hide myself, and my hollow wealth of tarragon flavor.
Where new-born flowers hatching, in the womb of my eye's
mother's grass warm sun.

[Hata Bildir]