To jot down stillness on a piece of paper
I left some room so it could breed in circles,
wove gossamers of heart from moonlights, tapered
all sounds and shades. The darkness stopped to charcoal.
A silver-feathered voice used ears as scrapers
to deepen in my soul and crumb to sparkles.
My whole inside was emptied for this draper.
He hammered out a salty sense and darkled.
I tracked him down in my deserted credo
where shadows melt and time sips dunes of writing.
Oases on the move stay still, untainted
where hives keep words and honey for libidos -
a paradise for daubers. Where dreams are flighty
feel Poetry… don’t touch a word… just painted…
November 11, 2010
Sonnet XV
© Copyright: Юрий Лазирко, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110111200358
Свидетельство о публикации №110111200358
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