a broken branch below the feet
amazing rose blood coloured
lies in your hands and marks you out
of this asphalt, of misplaced wastes
shattered glasses, smoking heaps
of rags, plastics, other scrap
you stay aloof the nasty fog
no muscle trembled on your face
you look down on the things around
at least i have a sense you do
your fingers suddenly turn white
you rip the head down from the stalk
a branch
© Copyright: Георгий Михайлович Яшин, 2006
Свидетельство о публикации №106053000328
Свидетельство о публикации №106053000328
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