secret garden

I depend on the sentence A stop that seeks form
orderly and modest like everyday speech
Everything in me awaits the moment when a shape
encloses shapelessness where it was suspended
I suffer gently but persistently the pain of uncertainty
the dissolution of feelings and thoughts in which I live
like in a diluted space
It doesn’t hinder me from admiring the linden branches
spread wide behind the window a screech of a magpie
annoying and blessed because it exists
it doesn’t hinder me from taking in the heat
of this dry and tragic summer
But a sentence a reliable sentence
restores under my feet the firm earth - J. Hartwig, for S.