A mountain
clouds were bursting black
ever more black
like terrible herds of Phrigian horses
until thunder
pierced the still unfinished painting
and the model was falling
head down
into the canvas
and grew into
the still warm contours
of sudden dazzlement
It was morning already
and you were laughing to me from the portrait
Metamorfoza
Gora
chmury pekaly czarne
coraz czarniejsze
jakby koni frygijskich grozne tabuny
az grom
przeszyl obraz nie dokonczony jeszcze
a model spadal
glowa w dol
w plotno
i wrosl
w cieple jeszcze kontury
naglego olsnienia
To byl juz ranek
a ty sie smialas do mnie z portretu