One autumn
Maria Khamzina
The wind plays with a leaf, gilded, like a kitten – a ball of string.
The sky becomes a little smoky. Summer goes sideways,
Quiet, muffled, so as not to feel ill, apples not to drop…
The space is covered with thick fogs on the crane thread.
Drawn to the West, North, North, pulls dampness from the ground,
Silently is worth Closing Doors – every word aching,
Beating on the threads of the raw web, he will release them – barely
Will clean off the traces of the cooling clay from his sleeves.
Every captive, sleepy word echoes the word " goodbye."
Waiting for their Pied Piper town. And collected in a common Fund
Ruins, remains of former gilding, leaves, fog, mirages…
Asleep the trees, hiding a yawn. In the sky, floating floors,
To dissolve in the dense watercolors, mist a night of rain.
Flute's tired. And leaves burned. Don't leave.