Spring
I ask—
gently
to let go of myself
to exit the stage
I ask—sorry
“Euthanasia of the I”
From the white room, black clouds
I wait now, patiently
From above, the quiet gaze
moves there,
in the middle of the river
an island rises
Beauty finds me
A fragment,
lives there in the middle
There is peace—
The breath slows,
stops and is reborn
The route breaks
The compass buzzes
I am in the journey, path collapsed
Vultures whisper
They await my death,
they reach out their hands
But I—
spit seeds,
infinite sprouts
How to hold them back—
Now they are fields,
infinite flowers clothe me
And so I, from broken branch, blossom
Spring of my senses
It’s time to go!
Giovanna Raffi
March 22, 2025