your poetry is knitted from the stripes of life

dedicated to my favorite poet,

 whose mind and writing inspires me to write.

your poetry is knitted from the stripes of life.

the daffodils don’t smell like roses,

but smell like daffodils,

for me they smell like spring.

 the knife by the loaf of bread

is not for murder, as I would guess.

 there is a glass of water, on your kitchen table.

I sip, it’s salty. I wonder why?

maybe you brought it home

from your last ocean’s trip.

 maybe, you carried a golden fish in it,

one with three wishes.

you said, it was the teaspoon of Epson salt

 that gave it the taste.

but then, I see, like I am blind,

I touch around every straw.

 I know,      

the mystery is there, I smell it.

perhaps in a drop of water,

silently shining on the table,

perhaps beneath your shoe,

perhaps,

it’s hidden in your smile…

c:Nina K Orlovskaya7/31.2012