The voice of February spoke to you,
Or rather, not to you at all —
To your reflection in the sky.
You were the reflection of liquid silver
On the fingers
Of a murdered woman
And a dead child.
I sit and listen to the "Сan"
And write into nothingness,
Perhaps for the last time,
Touching the paper
With now hopelessness
Surrounded by understanding
Like a bright rocket,
Drawing a map of the territory
Here at your feet,
Explaining the words with my fingers.
It just happened that way,
Just a face and eyes looking up
Towards death,
On a delicate palm.
The line of February
перевод нейросети, иллюстрация нейросети 2023
The line of February
© Copyright: Вячеслав Свечков, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123050103436
Свидетельство о публикации №123050103436
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