I
The dawn is a smile
On a rough clay vase
You sleep
In shameless pose
Of ripe grapes
In the glass corridors
Of the rays
Parts of the body
Are severed by the gaze
Mingled with birds
And stones carrying them
II
It is
When music is yet not
Only a video jukebox
Of waves
Lonely
Human-bodied Gods
Are wading cliffs
On bronze-faced horses
A bell of your sleep
Resounds
In the language of pigeons
When they bring
To the nest
Grapes - rough stones
Warming up to singing
*** ***
The dawn is
© Copyright: Сергей Муценко Избранное, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125032806830
Свидетельство о публикации №125032806830
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