Light lands.
The Bosphorus bends its bays
As another day ends.
The fishermen, now greyer and older,
Tell their tales.
Lives meshed in empty nets.
Crashing into the galsswalls of distance,
Remembering
When kisses were eternities,
And nights between us thick.
Now drawing these blinds,
I still see the stealing moon.
Tart fruits of love:
Ink on your photograph,
Ash in the line breaks.
Fishermen
© Copyright: Егор Лановенко, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108081001287
Свидетельство о публикации №108081001287
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