Posted by: bogpan | март 17, 2018

Time twelve

On an autumn Sunday

i set the afternoon
table
its roots
high

deep in the soil

i put the white
tablecloth on
and there they descended
my childhood memories
on high chairs

threaded
with living people
and the porcelain
tureen
spoke
with a sweet flavor
(radiance of
silver
essences)
the clock
hit
twelve
with twelve
hammers
Time twelve
blameless
happy
hour Sunday
hour of
white
autumn

Incubate

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