IN THE NET Poem by Slavko Jendričko

The letter is before the one from yesterday
and it hasn't dawned yet.
I open a web page
www.sorrow.hr
a lost soul
sings about the dead Rimbaud
and searches for her first love
among the high drifts of snow.
My half-broken
wife is by my side.
I touch her palm
but leave no trace of guilt.
I will never know
why the star extinguished
on my palm.
The snow starts to melt on the blue screen
in my fist when I close it.
My wife cried again in her sleep last night,
the sorrow I wake her up with
is the only blessing and gift for her fear.
Otherwise, why would I save the feeling of guilt like a treasure?
I searched for the invisible crime in the lines of my palm
until the morning.