Miroslava Odalovic (Montenegro)
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Calender Day 1
It's a silent night and half a truth. The edges of thought lightly touched by the Moon. It's a thick darkness I feed with the light of the letters, an aureole of the written among the walls the whispers slipping between the words and the body prostrated before the soul. From my altar like window the bidrs are flying up towards the arches upwards into an all held within manner built beneath the limits of the human craving.
...and half a dream. In another one there's an eye sighting into the gap and each step is light when there is no bottom. The space is answered in time and the time is wondered at in space about the meaning of standing and duration. The black sky spells out the stars the signs of its counting and I am but one of them. Sometimes the reflection answered in the surface of the water by the depth in which my own countenance is reflected and the edges of my shadow. Sometimes it's nothing as an always a good place to start a journey.
...and half a touch. It moves with its fingers the quiver of an early storm that will grow into slapping the boughs, the first dropp of rain will flood the streets now trodden by a silent night.
...and half a smile. Built within a tear and all made of hope. That smiles the night.
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