We met deep in the dark, where two
Paths were crossing.
You were pressing a tired telephone
To a deaf ear
And watching me with a
Blind eye.
You stood there, benumbed by
Numberless stares, and all
Sediments of self-defence
Were broken by fresh tear-tracks:
A face that had wept its smiles
Out.
And you would stay, a statue
Which had eloped its museum
With a handful of midden,
Ready to be thrown,
If I didn't take you travelling
To dress you into silhouettes
Of my imagination,
To show the shores where cliffs sip
From the sea, where
Love lives in between the tumbling
Leaves and asphalt; to walk
With you along
The park paths into a mosaic of
Possibilities; to ramble
The dewed dawn, slide down the tired trunk
And talk talk talk
Talk under the chestnut trees.
The Travels
© Copyright: Егор Лановенко, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108022701923
Свидетельство о публикации №108022701923
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