Mayor Korobov, the first Russian I met, who made Russia attractive to me in 1989,
The Seventh Poem May 15, 2022
The season changes with rain,
with sun. We close on May soon,
enter June. Summer beckons.
The hens keep laying. The sun
turns the curtains full orange.
I wake as if from a drugged sleep,
close and open my hands, pull
myself upright and make my
toast, heat tea. These days are
full. My mind sends me words
as it wakes. Many thoughts
converge. I expect messages.
Too much at once, yet I want
all that is coming my way. I
live among my worries, yet
hope for the best answers,
the best help,
the certainty of love.
No comments:
Post a Comment