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 .
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.