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VRV Z JUNIJA
In ne samo jok,
kot drhtenje rož gospe Dalloway,
temveč vračanje solz na izvir,
kot v hrbtišče velikega drevesa,
potovanje po nitkah rastlinskih žil,
ki nam razsvetljuje bistvo tekočin,
v sožitju z zrakom, ki se diha v spanju –

vse to so znaki tipanja oprijemk skozi čas,
besed, ki so jih ob tem izgovorili drugi
v sivo brado jutranje svetlobe med nočjo in zoro,
ko so se kot gledališke miši objemale in navijale
za življenje, med vase obrnjeno stranjo in tisto,
ki jo deliš z drugim ob sebi
v kokonu pomenov med telesoma,

kjer tudi v spanju ves čas teče
drevesni sok vseh misli
 
JUNE THREAD
And not just the weeping,
as with Mrs. Dalloway's trembling flowers,
but it is about the tears returning to their source,
as if travelling through tiny root veins 
up the backbone of a great tree,
a journey enlightening us about the nature of liquids,
their symbiosis with the air that we breathe in sleep –

all of these are signs of feeling for handholds through time, 
of words others speak at such times into morning’s
grey beard of light, between night and dawn,
while like theatre mice they were hugging and cheering
for life, and you find yourself between an inward looking self 
and another that you share with the one next to you
in a cocoon of meanings between two bodies

through which, even while dreaming,
the sap of all thoughts moves