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We were almost the same as several older generations
who conspired in shacks trying to change the world.
Thank God we didn’t crave power, only to be remembered.
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My last meal should be a poor man’s breakfast-
a slice of Lithuanian black bread
a hard boiled egg and a piece of
fat and just slightly salty Baltic herring
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I transformed myself in her freezing rivers—
Lietuva burst a floret, yare devil, and a pixy.
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and so, I claw with my fingers
at the emptiness
to which, my blood, from time to time,
waving its little hand, says hello
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there, were a still living bird sings,
sings of how we will not die,
but simply remain invisible for all time
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Thusly, we momentarily see reality, crawling through
the trenches, showing its spikes to the outside world.
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and the snow will crunch, and the dew will push through the door,
and there will be nothing,
only three hearts, palms grown together
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It’s liberating, like removing diapers from a child –
I crawl through my dream naked and without shame.
