Innokenty Sharkov, Rebirth of Space #1
Now
Stephen Komarnyckyj
There are fifty cents in my pocket
And a delicate light whose china bowl I could hold
Though already fractured by my words
And I know
There are too many dead today
Though everyone is always accounted for
And the coin
Is hard in my hand as exile,
I rub it between my fingers, simple things
Can be what matters, touch without thought
When the world is just Braille
That I can read
Your body a novel, where I linger
Marvelling at the period detail of the rooms
The rhomboid of light,
Falling on a girl’s face as she watches
Two swans flying towards Scotland
Calling to each other incessantly
Though all that they and I leave behind
Or understand
Are thermals buoying the wings, a song
Some consider ugly, the flight with a friend
Towards a landscape
Someone else will find.
Stephen Komarnyckyj
There are fifty cents in my pocket
And a delicate light whose china bowl I could hold
Though already fractured by my words
And I know
There are too many dead today
Though everyone is always accounted for
And the coin
Is hard in my hand as exile,
I rub it between my fingers, simple things
Can be what matters, touch without thought
When the world is just Braille
That I can read
Your body a novel, where I linger
Marvelling at the period detail of the rooms
The rhomboid of light,
Falling on a girl’s face as she watches
Two swans flying towards Scotland
Calling to each other incessantly
Though all that they and I leave behind
Or understand
Are thermals buoying the wings, a song
Some consider ugly, the flight with a friend
Towards a landscape
Someone else will find.