snow is lying like dead ballerinas

Sviatoslav Zhabotynskyi

snow is lying

like dead ballerinas

 

takes root

in the emptiness

between eyes

 

villages are scattered

like black things

of used god

 

sky

can no longer

keep inside

silence of birds -

 

explodes

like cocoons

in a church

 

the day is over

and man-burnt-match

goes home

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