Strange weathers: Piotr Florczyk in Kraków

Absolution
Who’s ashamed for having written about God?
God no longer has that letter: he tears up our requests.
Penetrates our diaries and kindly erases
confessions dictated by youth and naïve faith.
He could be more tenacious — L. says about God.
Let him be rather more like us — what a foolish human dream.
Poem
The box on the table has begun to think.
Thinking beyond me.
Or is it just my imagination?
Of course not. It is. Meditating behind my back.
I don’t see it. How do I know it is thinking?
This thought has just occurred to me.