Poezja

Clouds had refused to part. 
A fractured moon was walking in dismay 
stroking the gazing stars. 
 
Cornwhite belonging of ashes was 
to fire, beloved sky was enchanted 
with water ceremony 
as a sign of gratitude to earth. 
 
The wind decided to reverse the clock 
and navigate in trees of waxing summer 
blowing yellow crystals of sulphur. 
 
A red admiral lands on a lone marigold 
with detachment, surveys pollen, pie-eyed, 
dangles, tilting a nod, emerges for another sortie. 
 
If there was an action, I think in between: 
live with it in fire of mind. The voyage 
begins when the song of eternity starts.