The Gypsy Gaze

The Gypsy Gaze

 

The blind alleys of my hand

woke with the words

of the gypsy old woman

and my childhood days bloomed

over the berry bought of the neighbor's grove.*

The horizon set an eagle a fly

and the shadow of a rabbit ran in the rye

then with the point of a fingertip

fluttered the colored wings of locusts

up to the high cement storage .

And destiny

smelled of burned dough

in the vague tales of the gypsy.

Then I closed my head

that expected a message

and the woman's gaze

froze on the lock & scissor.