--- L E O N A R D   G O N T A R E K

The snow that appears violet, later,


in a photo, now lights up


all of the night.


Dark is not an enigma. We are


the enigma.


We carry the moon from the well


to the door of the house.


Evil is made to sit in the corner,


becomes silent.


A child. Milk. It spills across


the floor, moonlight.


The cat licks up the truth, fast


as it can. The cat loves the child.