I don't know when line come
on Ioana's shoulder.
at the third sentry of the night
Ioana still gathered the lap of her nightshirt
around her ankles
she called you, she chased you away ten times
until she collapsed
the same place
you strewed thorns
she petals

then the morning arrived.
Ioana mislayed the path
she made one step forward
you two steps back

I pulled her hand
i showed her a back road
this field is wild,
i said
Ioana, from now one you'll
walk on
don't stop until you dig in
at blade's foundation
with beaten hands

you'll plant roots
in this dry land
wet it with your tears

and no morning will be the same
cause you'll always be different

look for me in the breadcrumb
hidden at your breast
don't lose yourself, Ioana!

share a corner
from your heart

and write, Ioana,
write about people

write about loneliness
and your path
through it.