The Imprint Of The Mould Poem by Borce Panov

one distant southern island this morning
over our snowy garden circulate
and one warm voice from the middle
of the frozen sighs
onto our windows landed
my embrace still keep the shape
of your body like the imprint
of the eternity
while hugged from the snow
my silence is thinking about you
and you still saying to me
that we are two thoughts like sky's macrame
that descends and as God's handwriting
is knit in us/and that I'm poet which like knot
holds together the knitted
- Hold me in your warm embrace
and remember that the root of our house
doesn't sleep even in winter -you are saying
because like blossomed twigs
you offering me yours hands
and in front of me, every golden moment
the cherries of your smile ripen
in a beauty that like south island
landing into the branches of our vocal cords