Mozetič Brane:
Spring Barely In The Trees

spring barely in the trees, I hear the quiet buds

as I lean far out the window

when an arrow suddenly rips through my head, from nowhere

unnoticed, like the call of the first cuckoo

in the morning quiet, blood runs down the chair

slumped, I watch the ever growing pool of red

wordless, motionless, I sense that there are eyes

gaping at the doorjamb, that

they count the minutes, the excruciating fear

that I might live, while outside is the early morning sun

while the garden stirs, while milk simmers

there, somewhere, behind the door - it’s peaceful, I calmly

watch the flow of blood across the floor, salvation

like a bolt from above, while all around

they wonder why, oh why

- no, you won’t sleep yet, as they bring your body

into the room, young, still redolent, like a sacrifice

as they keep watch on you, the ageless call of death