LE DEJEUNER SUR L’HERBE ~ BOJANA STOJCIC

sprawled figures basking in the impressionist sun
shooting through a break in the clouds

he said
you are forest thick brush strokes of my outdoors

a window opening on landscapes devoid of human presence
my lack of sharpness, my fine edges

he said
you are my fleeting glimpse of forgotten languages

an ephemeral moment
lived without a straight jacket

he spoke of water lilies and japanese bridges
imprisoned in an imperfect symmetry

and a dream he had of a cuckoo
pardoned by time

your heart is river shaped
he said

your winds intensely colored and homeless
howl through my trees

i was his mother’s womb
he said

throwing his elongated shadow
on my walls as

I flung off my everything to expose
my naked body to the firing squad

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* You can read more of Bojana’s work at Blogging with Bojana

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