silent words
her eyes
draped in the green silk of pines,
afloat
in a river of broken needles.
the salty potions, in pairs,
dispensed at random.
the wind
tastes the bits of her soul
and retreats, like a wounded dog, in an auburn cloud,
losing its breath forever
in the jungle of the tangled vines.
she doesn’t say a word.
she whispers in tongues
of the fading moon.
and a wolf, stopped on his trail,
echoes back.
a newborn child, still inflicted
by mother’s agony,
breaks its cry on a half of a note
and listens...
the whisper of life,
upon eardrums,
for the first time
c:Nina K Orlovskaya@ 7/27/2012
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