Stretch out your arm,
and in the back you will find the locknut.
Release it. This is а father talking to а boy
when they are fixing а washing mashine.
lt was а small miracle, but still а miracle.
Because it was there.
Because he was his father.
Well lighted-up streets behind the hill
drew а blue line to the fields
hunching over like а back of а cold girl.
А finger on а window
joined souls with а bridge.
А big swallow-tail in pelargonium
brought ѕо much black and yellow
that somebody should write history of colours.