Sunday is windy and hot day.
mature leaves of quiet whispers
seemed to me a new arch
into the sky of the stretched bridges.
who built it: leaves / wind?
or inspiration flight?
whispers, of course, will answer,
and the soul will answer in the answer,
that it does not matter at all - who is the builder,
although they have today - a holiday.
built threads are drawn
in a new, unexplored limit,
for which - too, there are no limits,
means - further build bridges.
heart - a bridge between the soul and body,
on it now you walk.