Transformation

I haven't written a single poem

in months.

I've lived humbly, reading the paper,

pondering the riddle of power

and the reasons for obedience.

I've watched sunsets

(crimson, anxious),

I've heard the birds grow quiet

and night's mutenness.

I've seen sunflowers dangling

their heads at dusk, as if a careless hangman

had gone strolling through the gardens.

September's sweet dust gathered

on the windowsills and lizards

hid in the bends of walls,

craving one thing only:

lightning, 

transformation,

you.

 --Adam Zagajewski