I don’t pull my hair piece by piece,
don’t weave a net to keep you close.
you don’t sing. you don’t play your violin.
the bird does not inspire you anymore.
you fall asleep before my words
dry on my lips ‘good bye’…
I walk the bank of the river,
piercing through its opaque skin.
who knows what monsters
prowl on the bottom, hiding
in the sediment of pollution.
I can’t drink it, swim in it.
I can’t rest by it…
I walk away.
© 2012 by Nina K Orlovskaya
No comments:
Post a Comment