my holy land
stays on two ancient whales
and
the third one
is a nomad-dolphin
runs on a blackened star
as far
as someone makes a wish
while times appreciate the fish
with grasps of autumn
right on the top
not on the bottom
stray thoughts
are settled there
it washed around to bear
the bitter memories
and mother’s rampant tears
it’s doomed to linger
till the sun is cleared
to hang in dreams
and after getting older
to smolder
in a heart
emerge then
on the ridge
still drifting through
the wordless world to reach
the paradise with berths
and shoals
it will explode with gardens
I should say
of course
then God
shall master pottery
to make self out of clay
and give the name
and start to play
with Adam
December 13, 2018
a land on fishes
© Copyright: Юрий Лазирко, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118121309761
Свидетельство о публикации №118121309761
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