Eli Spivakovsky


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Corps of Wet Doves

In the sun, the down on birds is luminous,
In the daisyfields, parachutes capture the glow of summer like papillion nets breathing oxygen and light.
Falling to earth, resuscitated by a strong breeze,
they flutter in their whitest silk like
an over-bloomed lily and call for more breeze
later still like
a late-blooming frangipani.

They are bridal canopies becoming sacronsanct

[Hata Bildir]