Because we are incapable of taking to the heavens

By Polina Yakovleva

Photo by Lacey Moranville

Photo by Lacey Moranville

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

and within,     

               somewhere,

the abyss calls,

               and I forget my name.

                          Is it calling for me?