to *
Light blue... i don't listen to it.
I hear it. I hear it always.
It's the opening of the silence
from which I hear.
It is silence.
When I hear its music
I know that the universe sings to me.
When it flows through the lines of my poem
I know that I've brought it home.
When I hear its sound in another soul
I know that I am in love.
When its melody stops
I know that i've died.
The labial of light blue no longer
wets my lips with the waves of the word love
and how else can my poem kiss you
good night or farewell,
my love,
how many blue lines,
can it still suck in --
out of the blue stars of your eyes --
and when the light of blue
comes to a halt from soul to skin
how many form the blue wax to coat for death?
In the yellowish fog
the inaudible tinkling of the blue bell-drops
endlessly form the horizon.....
sometimes i call the voice of blue immortality
16 Октябрь 2010 г.