(Stefan Napierski 1899-1940)

Walking dawn from the fifth floor
I don't look down: there's a call
I cling with both hands
I've got noise in my ears and flames around

I stagger in the street, I feel the ground with my foot
Like a juggler warring an umbrella, I cling tightly tightly
I feel: pavements will step aside, they can crack into clinks
Houses will sway and start crushing me
I'll return trembling. I will look at the glass pames accidentally
Faint trips my legs:
Horizons turn around slowly
Big spaces shout

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