That white house – a reflection,
where the two of us will live,
where a lonely boy will play
with wet ashberries;
where we will never need to be separated,
where childhood’s beams
will splash from the stones,
and where you can’t avoid me.
Like a dragonfly’s wing from the water
shiny and green
The glass of your opened window quivers in the sun
– I love
you to your depths,
not erased by hundreds of miles
through larch branches
my green gaze hungers for you…
(Judita Vaiciunaite)
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