Julia Stakhivska

FRUIT GARDEN

Morning is the time of waiting for you

it is a taste of milky caramel on an empty stomach

it is the archers whose hands aresharp who stand near the fields of eyes

and outposts of nose

it is a small mulattos of the seed in daily apple

eat them - they're wholesome - they got some iodine

and the old fruit gardens 

still before the moment they got the common memory

i walk through this memory just like a walk thorugh the

tunnel just like i walk like a worm

and now i start to notice - how many tasteful faces there are

and no i start to notice - how many stoned like insects in the amber there are

and my amber is tight on my hand

and my amber is as tight as iodine layers of yellowfall for pedestrian

my grandpa says: do not wail and be quit

every morning the organism got the rehearsal

heart is percussion

liver is cello

lungs are brass

and we listen if there is something in their pit

and we laugh and grandpa says: it's applayse, eat'em

and archers are now vanish in the scottish dreams

with the minutes over the shoulder

they enter the nosegate of windrose

leaving the defensive sniffs on the threshold

and the tambourines with ripy apple skin

EXIT

How nice for you to be in soft coccons for explorations of the every foot of dream

How nice for you to laugh 'cause life - are icecream portions small

Icecream portions small are bead on almond spoons

and cold will never get the finnish knife in gateway

and cold will never show its metal ribs - the only flash there -

How nice for you to walk from porches at 2 o'clock, after midnight:

the two and the third one is son - still in hands and still too small and happy and sleepy

he looks at the sky confused and his gaze is vine

it rolls on the plates of the fathers faces without reply

only mothers hairadder has fallen

only fathers adam's apple twitched so keenly  just like pink

FAREWELL

I think when you part your ways you put the bay leaf under your tongue

and because of that - the kiss is bitter and some black just like the henbane

i love this fly - so good with her to die so dersperate to catch the evenings

prunes of shadows and to note what Carl Linne was right:

giraffe of our love extends his neck because she wants so 

and she got no need to tear the leaves from branches - 

the bay leaf now grows on the ground

TO LAY AND FALL ASLEEP TOGETHER. TO TALK

dream grows like a tree small: sucker from sucker

sprout to sprout

leaves are sticking to the shutter

and in the warm lampshade just like in the halcyons nest

still lays the nestling of the light

even if theres no rush - there will be reed of silence

even if theres no barren flowers - there will be pillow feathers

even if willow grows wrong - the dream will widen

the gloom buries itself and leaves the mellow molehills on the ground 

it is and it's breathin' little.