Utu Man (36) Pollen

A dragonfly-demon
winging hurriedly
hit the moon
and crashed on an apple-tree.

I heard the noise
and came out of the house,
a grey clump of limbs
hung in the branches.

From a soggy arm
drop by drop
plopped warm
pollen-coloured syrup

into a clear pool
where was reflected
the whole
of the dead flyer's face.

I squatted and dipped
my fingers in the liquid gleam
smelling of moon meadows,
of basilic and hemp,

of tall stems lifting
their petalled palms,
lush pollen flying off them
on the lips of winds,

as these drops,
each keeping a tiny moon,
fluttered from my fingers,
like jezebels, one by one.

Вланес, 2009

Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 790 № 72373 от 05.09.2009

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