Sources Of Almost Delight Poem by Anna Polibina-Polansky

My philosophy is crewd. My itinerary is sophisticated. My genre is plain. My emotions are latent. A breeze hums its tune over a magnolian grove. I discern twelve shades of the blossom. I guess what constellation is about to drop its luminary as a sacrifice to the world below. I roam about grottos. I seek my own tune which is hard to discover through trite days. I am not a teenager to strive for novelty. My capacity is to reveal the genuine. I wonder when the day of my wedding will find me vigile and wondering. Phantoms of reveries lurk in my accidental dreams. I gradually consume the appearing metaphors and substite them with scarce allegories of the being. Aeschatological categories hardly bother my mind. Half-forgotten faces stubbornly resurrect