Genoveva

I must have fallen asleep again... A lamb gently licks my hand. You touch my forehead, place herbs on it, they are warm and smell of a long-forgotten song. I can still hear it, hypnotically soft, enveloping me from afar. You give me milk...

Stony black earth still swallows the bitter cry. Does not want to give up the night, murmurs sleepily. But something pushes and pushes, wants to get outside, wants to unfold, breaks layer by layer, strives tirelessly towards the light. It pushes tiny...