Vagabond Multilingual Journal Spring 2005 | Page 27

Tatyana Shmygol *** Glass melancholy of leaves tearing off. Like shadows of branches on the wall Our separation lies ?at. Snow-blue air smells of fresh muskmelon. Covered with thin paper cuts Hands are going numb. So night drizzle is awaiting the broken songs of the morning. So the blind autumn waits for its last leap.

Tatyana Shmygol
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