Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
The animals you showed me I saw life passing, blue, with yellow adornments, all in light, before our embrace. I like your sun, I said, and lightly kissed your ear. The boat was flying. You were glowing. Glowing was the Continue reading Five new poems by Margarita Serafimova
I. Tamarisk light. Being is infinite. A joy is overflowing me – it is independent of my finite being. II. On the princely brown hill, a mulberry tree stands, dark with plenitude. Who are we to have moods, facing the Continue reading 5 poems by Margarita Serafimova