(for dear friend Martin)


i’ve heard her-
a hidden firefly
speaking in dusks
of shine and lavender
across the path
of harmony flights

(it’s easy
to hear,
just close your eyes
at 7.31 p.m.
and color your heart
with any color you like)

she told me:
each time you write,
mountains grow magic grapes
for the huckleberry wine of life,
scented rains
paint ladies’ umbrellas and smiles
with delicate petals,
from dust to heaven sway
the silk-red wisdoms
rise and dance

of wind and fall and dew
and fire,
of woods and moss
and faerie wings
(and don’t forget,
a waterfall of lightbeam stars
to accompany them)
your words are melodies
that melt unspoken lakes
into the bloom of dreams



5 thoughts on “gardens

  1. Dear Yelena, thank you deeply for this uplifting poetically blooming meadow (and the magically peeking white flower of unknown type) like for all the enchanting poetry of yours. I’m a bit sad these days like sobering from a wonderful but unreal dream.
    (I will gladly answer your mail after my return.)

      • let’s call this flower Lothlórien 😉
        i know how it feels, as you may guess. dreams never die, they may bloom in silence where they’re rooted or shift to other dream realms, that sometimes gently collide with reality or even shape reality when one least expects that. the world is filled with wonders unfathomable. may your heart bloom the ache away and encounter love and light and joy on your life’s way. sending warm prayers.

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