22 August 2011


This is poem #751

æstivation 7/22

The sound of cicadas will hum the days and nights
with the soft breeze of evening across the face

And every day will echo the next

Here some mountain air will warm then cool and the
leaves will yellow but not before they green and thick

A silence will come after a hawk cries out

And each day to the lake and then with the toes
in the ice blue water and the fish lips kissing them

A restive sir a calming of the back from spasm

Like Montaigne you will spa and break the stones
of your life into smaller passable silts

Then pray for no infection

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous22/8/11 21:13

    Like this one, Mikhail. Miss you!