Again she invents something… (Lara Mishanova)

Again she invents something… again She invents something And believes in the imagination in the morning And waiting, perhaps most of all — Saturday, Letting in a rush of loneliness in the evening, will throw a shawl on the shoulders of your favorite, familiar smile at mirrors And where the heart is, it is still not easier — sleeplessness with anguish in half “if” — and then believe in the fairy tale “I would” — selaginellaceae funny In the palette of dreams stir the paint And Tenderness gives the names of cornflowers, of velvet, of snow of autumn and beads of rain Last beam is shining VEGA*, whisper in your ear: “Tale of you”