That you were as cold as ointments.
This was left over from that summer.
To cuddle in the shadow of your sentences,
as if under a tree.
Plus, the difference of pressure,
which turns the breath into sigh.
The problems like empty tin cans
were rattling in your chest.
I think I’m confusing you with your memory.
If I want to reach you,
I have to stretch through time
like through a mirror.
Back then you were the one
who I am looking for now.
Translated from the Hungarian poem of Péter Závada, “AKIT MOST KERESEK”.