From My Pillow

Silently looking for the exit sign
In these unreadable desert that inhabit my left
and his right boot
abandoned somewhere on the way to the creek
I found

There is nothing on the left
There is nothing on the right.

I suddenly turn in to the shape of shoelace.

Stretched from my pillow to his bare foot
I was trying to learn the language in which
dark rainy cloud whisper to the grain of a sand .
What have been said before some lousy cactus
become desert rose
And how long it takes to learn more about that
punctuation already tattooed in my skin
by invisible ink.

I did not learn much decoding signs on the crossroads
that like my palms was useful more to the fake prophets,
than to me
not far from my own grief,
too close to my solitude

What I wanted was to be just one shoelace
that will make two empty boots
walking towards the end of the desert
where my pillow looks like
two desert roses
chirping about simple love
in the language I still try to learn.
Lydia Lida Simic
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