by Anna Idelevich |
The saber is melting in spite of January with raindrops over the grass. A solid horizon hung like a fish, driving me crazy. Cold in December, dry up, but flared up with the fire of love, dancing bud catches the rain and knows that there is no death. It melts with moisture on the tongue and the gums are his bed. Probably there is no beach, probably there is only one blizzard in my head. Probably it’s time for me to sleep, but whispers that there is no death, still sings the words again, wiping his nose first: Everything you do, makes me crazy ’bout you. Nothing that tenderness hangs, I’m only here until seven. Everything you do, makes me crazy ‘bout you. I am a molten sapphire, a souvenir not found.
|Anna’s poems were featured in Louisville Review, BlazeVOX, The Racket, New Contrast, Zoetic Press, and Shoreline of Infinity among others.