Air still on my lips,
I don’t know what it is.
Is it I? Is it you?
Does it float
like my heart feathers?
Voice, a dark shimmering thing
at the edge of my head. Something sweet too.
I want to swallow the world outside, it’s all new,
is it this black or
is it this sticky red crushing?
I will spit it with my first breath: oldening.
Picture by Katerina Dramitinou (Greece)
Poem by Petra Whiteley (England)
Music by Cornelia Pasch (Germany)