Large, gray, sprawled
like an old elephant.
Winter is ending.
Low, sloping roofs are overturned boats
slumbering along the shores of drowsiness.Twenty years of an oak tree’s life
is burned instantly in a stove.
And eyes meet only by accident
like suburban roads
that intersect in grassy meadows,
like streams that swell their banks,
like hairs on a pillow
after a long illness.The old elephant’s hoof
tramples the ground
sowing poisonous yellow flowers
in its path
flowers that have no scent at all.