A nyár könnye...

                                                        Nem az enyém

                                                        ami másé,

                                                        kávéillat

                                                        pásztorjáték-

                                                        zöld pázsiton

                                                        boklász a szél

                                                        s porázon

                                                        a rongyos árnyék.

                                                        Szemem gyolcs

                                                        reggelek tüzén

                                                        villan rá

                                                        rossz verssorokra,

                                                        rímet ragaszt

                                                        mosolyával

                                                        az árváló

                                                        hársfalombra.

                                                        Keresem zord

                                                        idő rendjén

                                                        önmagam,

                                                        hogy én lehessek,

                                                        napjaim

                                                        bordó keresztjén

                                                        a lemorzsolt

                                                        harang-csendet.

                                                        Értelmet

                                                        az életemnek

                                                        hajnalok

                                                        nyers lobbanásán,

                                                        a tegnapból

                                                        kiszakadva,

                                                        értéket a

                                                        holnap ráncán.

                                                        Gondolkozom,

                                                        nem én lennék

                                                        aki vagyok,

                                                        aki leszek-

                                                        zalagyöngyés

                                                        kertem alján

                                                        a nyár könnye

                                                        miért pereg?