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.