Utu Man (30) My Flight

I climbed on the window-sill
and flew off it again
into the freshly woven silk
of summer rain,

into long knotty threads
that surged on the loom of dawn
with more fugitive patterns
as weaving went on.

People couldn't see me,
their eyelids pressed
by the palms of a moon
sitting on their chest.

Gods couldn't see me
in this fluid haze,
hiding grumpily
under blue umbrellas.

I could only be seen
by a pigtailed girl
from a round window
of a silver bird,

but I was not worried
about being not alone,
because it all happened
long after I was gone.

Вланес, 2009

Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 790 № 70891 от 05.07.2009

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