Crimea

I go,
I look out of the window -
flowers
the sky is blue,
then in your nose
magnolia,
then in your eye
wisteria.
On milk
replaced
teas
in the shining
moon charms.
And in the afternoon
and at night

on Chair

water
runs, growls.
Under the terrible
guards
wave-wrestlers
the depths of water are suppurating
exaggerated
from palaces
tritons and naiads.
And in the palaces
another life:
saturating
water bliss,
go, worker,
and lie down
in bed
grand ducal.
The mountains are burning, the hills,
and the sea is blue.
Of people
repair accelerated
in a huge
Crimean smithy.

Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.