“Just listen to
the echoes of the hunt!”
but being deaf,
he opens his palms
at night, “Read them
aloud!”
The portrait of the Moon
is sad, framed by
the window again,
a tiny palm still keeps
the secrets of
one’s fate.
I’m awaited by
deaths, separations,
crosses, illness, thorns.
He’s lucky with
the other men’s
good wives...
“Don’t listen to
the echoes of the hunt!”
Love is a vine.
So hiding, falling in
his palms, I close
my eyes...
2000
Palmistry
© Copyright: Александра Крючкова, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125082505077
Свидетельство о публикации №125082505077
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