the winter anthology
Vol. 4
Mariana Dan
triangle
I cut the air
and set out
on icy paths
between adam and ioan
between egg and sphere
with the air I cut words
and letters
and where I’ve made cuts
grow bird-legs
and bloody boots
on the right bank
and the left
of the danube
of ice
I cut night and winter,
cut sleep
which chatters on about life
without me
and listen to the yolk
oozing
drop by drop
from egg and sphere
sprinkling my lips
with unwords—
when ptolemy lived
the earth was as flat
as an open palm
now it has grown round,
and as you might say
we live longer than gods—
I cut the gods
and cut unwords as well
I set out on icy
shortcuts
with my legs worn to stubs
up to my wings