Because we are incapable of taking to the heavens
By Polina Yakovleva
Beauty hit me,
and I fell into gold—
broke into diamonds on the water;
You, with sunshine
in your hair, beckoned—a dream
far in the clouds—
and warmth ran chanting through my body,
and air slipped past my languid fingers,
and you, perfection of the earth, bewitched me
into a haze—the lull of ocean’s waves.
In my depths I melted into drops
of wax—dancing patterns iridescent on the water.
It swells around me
the abyss calls,
and I forget my name.
Is it calling for me?