Life stops… where silent e’s are craggy.
Define a quota for the sky and squint.
Make clouded music free and shaggy
by blowing out the note, a key imprint.
An obit finds in me a cover.
Am I a globe for lovers to be spun?
If there can be no way to hover
don’t rush to build for dreams a fowl run.
The reckless time’s aghast and eaten,
quicksilver poles are nailed when winters plod.
Abandoned foliage can’t be Eden
where all the “hell to pay” is “Oh my God!”
Unseal the veins of winds and shivers.
When smoke is gone a fire hibernates.
Against the gentle crust of river
the Universe stops rubbing shoes and waits…
December 7, 2010
The winter is somewhere near
© Copyright: Юрий Лазирко, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110120708959
Свидетельство о публикации №110120708959
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