proofs
Angels hit by stones
Who still have the strength
Not to draw back into the air
Beg me, wounded
And exhausted for hospitality
And still fluttering lightly
Fall asleep meek and delicate in my notebooks,
Pulling just in slumber
When they become chilly
A white sheet over their wings.
In the morning I know I’ve not been dreaming
Because of the feathers’ impression on the pages
And I hurry to memorize them
Before they’re confiscated from me
In order to decree new species
Of birds of prey.
From the poem ‘Proofs’ by Ana Blandiana, The Hours of Sand: Selected Poems 1969 – 1989.
