"You say to myself that the past winter ..."

says to himself that the winter has passed,
experienced what could; I could not - leave
as it is; not gone through with the mind,
hardened in the process does not become worse,
He came into the world, looked around, opened his hand - feed the pigeons in gray benches,
He told them that had woven himself
nest there, inside, where it established before his death,
He told them that he had seen bad dreams,
that the kitchen warmed by the radiator,
but winter does not melt the earth,
and the earthly in you, you say, is aging ...
I would have told, but my ears whistling,
pocket and became shallow and empty hand ...
sometimes to forgive all,
One Sunday not enough.



Asya Anistratenko 2007

Photos on the preview: Irina Julia





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