Home
summer’s tongue licks

all our attempts

to build a home
we conjure rain

to show us where

foundations are
we pull out roots

collect brown leaves for the cellar

oranges for walls

yellow birds for windows
we are eternal tenants

waiting for winter

its fire scarf
and winter is as late as the trains in Serbia
our feet are bare

our bodies are cold

asphalt

two skies
winter is our mother

old woman

slow walk

she has no choice
but to come


Dom
letnji jezik liže

sve naše pokušaje

da sagradimo dom
prizivamo kišu

da nam pokaže

temelje
vadimo korenje

sakupljamo

braon lišće za podrum

narandže za zidove

žute ptice za prozore 
večiti stanari

čekamo zimu

njene vatre šal
a zima kasni kao vozovi u Srbiji
žedne su nam ruke
noge bose

tela hladna

asfalt

dva neba 
zima je naša majka

starica je već

spor je njen hod

nema drugog izbora
nego da dođe