My Fish Is Going to Live
it's so sudden—what do catfish and carp feel
when an artillery shell hits the lake?
a piece of shrapnel broke through the brick wall,
busted the fishbowl
as if it were a clear bag of water and broken glass.
she collapsed on the floor,
wet strands of hair
mixed with algae,
all over her back.
an angelfish was flopping on the linoleum near her face—
a bright comma
of suffocating life.
but she was unharmed—not a scratch—
only her legs stuck together like two lollipops,
and became dusty bluish:
the color of fish scales in the moonlight.
without a word,
having turned into a mermaid, she crunched her fins in slippers
on the broken wet glass.
went to the kitchen, filled a pot with water.
picked up four fish and a snail,
looked for cigarettes on the windowsill,
while a warm wind was kissing her webbed fingers
with a wedding ring on one of them.
my fish is going to live . . .
There Are No More Seasons
the winter evening carved
a cube of a winter unicorn
from glowing marble.
its mouth steaming,
it chews icy apples.
a white bird,
a few seconds of warmth,
oily sparks of gold
in the evening windows.
this scarecrow
of peaceful winters,
why have you hobbled into the free verse now?
this boat has neither bottom,
no oars, and its sail is eaten by rot.
ashes of memories are worth their weight in gold,
or in entropy.
I am stuck in the tax office of logic,
I've lost my dashing pirate
improvisations.
in the evening a squirrel will flare up on a pine bole
like a bundle of bronze wires
and flow smoothly into the crown.
a bat will douse everything with ultrasound—
a flying fountain,
a sign of a night predator.
it's wonderful.
and it doesn't matter that there's a bomb above me,
and a cistern of diesel fuel below.
smoke spreads, black like a magpie.
a window frame hangs like a knocked-out tooth,
held on by a flap of skin.
a plane in the sky is a letter
that no one wants to read.
the smoke from the hookah of death.
black tenacious weeds
grow inside my muscles and bones.
inside my feelings and thoughts.
there are no more seasons of the year.
only seasons of war.