Words come with flowers
rhyming stones and clouds of yesterday
grow me again in the winter’s womb
Hear me not
but staple me with winds
to approach half dead autumn
Open eyes after leaves of tomorrow
gone or coming to?
wait for buried heart almost new
beloved, memories of ripped tides
circle along the lines
as if circle is straight
but the result always — zero
wait for it,every coconut question of snow
will be answered with revival of past with unbleached zero.