Sergeij Kitov

Jazz Variation - Poem by Sergeij Kitov

It's not my self but my appreciation
a hard way over the gulf in trying to attain
that foreign coast. Rustling waves like pages
are led of the enormous forefinger that is
in a library of water. Majority might say - in vain -
but majority is always lesser than the force
of transformation winter soul in flesh
which find itself in a house near the lake.
Three persons have a dinner there. Woman's
gaze frizzed in the window. She recognize in fresh
air lips made to say only one word - Thank

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, March 21, 2006

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