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The text is a fabric made of fibres of memory, dreams, reflections. It is cut, sewn, dotted, embroidered. It feels like young grass, threads of rain, your favourite hair. It is a fabric of imaginary and real worlds and spaces, experiences - shared and personal. The foundations, principles, conclusions, thoughts form a weave that we wind over the years - and nothing appears out of nowhere, there must be those crosses that are wandering and founding somewhere. Somewhere there must be hands that write, print, move the shuttle between the threads.

The collection "Crossroads" features thin, gentle, but enduring poems by Volodymyr Magdysiuk-Menkach on the cover and spine. Perhaps they are durable because the author wrote them as an architect - the letter combinations are strong and dense, or perhaps because the real is always durable. To open this book is to read a scroll of silk.