these words have always existed
in the broad smile of a sunflower
in the dark wing of a crow
and also
in the frame of a half-closed door

even when the door was not there
they existed
in the branches of an ordinary tree

and you want me
to possess them
you want me to be
the wing of a crow a birch tree and summer

you want me
to sound
the buzz of beehives open to the sun

you fool
I do not have these words
I borrow
from the wind from bees from the sun -H. Poswiatowska