1.
Dogs quested and the presence missed a soul.
They scared away the rigor out of air.
All platforms perched on shoulders, lonely crows
with eyes of wolves and beak-ends to repair
the reasons found in the acutest grin.
When mercury is burnt three fingers wide
and water-elder blood chills on the scene
in wounds of winds I’m destined to reside.
2.
My raison d'etre makes echo-splinters
with human voices, their venenation,
name-called, neglected, defused by winters,
and walked alone-wise through crowded stations.
All echoes die soon, to-well-dropped pebbles.
I’m scarce now, painted o’er by December.
In trainful bosom my heart is trebled…
raised hell in temples… home to remember.
June 6, 2011
A railway station scent
© Copyright: Юрий Лазирко, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111060900513
Свидетельство о публикации №111060900513
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