Witnessed another rise. A gilded hourglass is always heavy
And again, on my two knees Counting wasted fishes knot in such tiny hands –
their poppy – like bones. Through a slope of fire and sliding, trousers wrapped in muds
Until back in yesterday, a pond of fallen woods.
What can I say? A touch of phoenix is on my forehead from right to left,
Slowly smooching. Calm, as if the woods are crosses falling, I will
I will look up beyond three inches of the high – up. Please,
Crouch down now, when the phoenix tree are swarms of the west wind.
Lovers' hands were forever soft, are hair of many humid, deep doughs
That transformed into apparatuses. On my knees from one to the other,
And let the autumn brush my hair again the grass leaf is just a bit braver in thrust
Greening my nerves once again.
Pumping, insist upon my pumps, I lean forward towards those masks
That are in color of yellow yesterday's flowers those leaves wear, going ashore.
To the lighthouse I only heard of, guides Jurmala and grey coastline of the Baltic,
Heard the wind buffeting again, from my ear to the westside and there is another memoir
I start to swallow, when the wind carefully makes its way across
The deepening heart of a phoenix tree.
And leaves, they walk away alone in a single flock in their prawning
Open mouths. Thundering again, they whine the autumn of my yesterday,
And all lines in my left palms jump wildly upon my breast,
True.
Winter is now finally, here.
YOU ARE READING
Tigress from the east
PoetryA poetry collection written by a Chinese girl. Biggest life goal of her: sitting in perfect balance of daylights and nights, back towards a mysterious naked tree, a cup of chai is better than coffee. Thinking, turn a being as living
