Weaving Gold

Mokosha, Anastasia Sophia, and Me, Natalia . . . while the books are written

Elusive Dream

Cars. Lawnmowers. Jets.
Unmelodic, disharmonious machines
disrupt my poem.
Persistent, distressing noises
destroy my peace.

If I listen with my eyes,
immerse myself in still waters,
equilibrium is restored,
For a moment,
desire to drown.

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