sheep chickens and dogs for company in the poet’s
Wales that levitates at the core of all times

a tulip risen from nowhere at my gate, violets
blossoming among stones in the backyard – suddenly
close-up, bigger than life on this patch of ground
in the middle of an American city that is suspended
waiting what is worst - and the expanse
of a fresh horizon

our steps cannot take us far at this time, our gaze
can: when the crescent moon rises
touch your forehead
and the forehead of who is close-by
with a gold ring, for good luck and life renewed
- as Romanians of old used to

when the crescent moon rises
your loved ones from afar will feel the touch
of your golden ring on their forehead