From balcony to balcony,
the summer cats are singing.
They're saying: ‘I wish you
were here.’ But I know
they can't understand
the meaning of such words.
The city is trying to sleep,
but the birds have gathered
for a party and the wires
dance between apartment blocks.
For some reason, I can
only think about eyes –
about eyes which
promise, suggest
a thousand possibilities
(or simply the sea),
but nevertheless remain
in someone else’s mirror.
It’s almost time to admit
that this is how
the tale ends – except,
there, listen – in the song
of the cats, the dance of the wires,
you can hear a new story
