Turkey

To Seva Rzhondkovsky

Like Earth’s blue eye
The deep pond roundly gazes
Into your face
And burns the lips
with thirst,
insatiable sigh of longing,
Or music’s rich elusive balm.
Do not rip strings,
Don’t break the chains
Of lazy afternoon daydreaming,
Allow me yet to linger at the edge
Of the impossible
Mediterranean
Eden.
But lo!
A rider gallops in the distance
And cuts
with a thin blade
of trailing
dust
The periwinkle-painted skies.

November 11, 2008