In An Inky Mood Poem by katerina shmelyeva

travelling across
the silky perfect cadences
of all-conciliating
dead-hour suite that rings

somewhere in between
the dreamy moon
and moony dreams,

I will surely catch you
hanging on the lips
of midsummer winds

whistling their
seductive serenades
to bewildered leaves
and limbs.

I surmise their love's
a way more fortunate
than mine. - no,
I feel no envy -

I enshrined
my own leaky songs
half-drowned in quicksands,

vessels of imperfect lines
and imperfect sense.

and someday I'll put afloat
this crumpled paper fleet.

singing braver than
the most gold-mouthed wind
is the heart
that bleeds.