Saturday, 8 December 2012

Another poem by Ivan Malinowski

Mosquito song

in the june night this dream

the house borne on the foam of the cherry trees

to the gurgling wash of the drowning birds
beneath a bell jar frailer than the mirror of the fjord

my sleep the egg of a wren: a wall of
whitewash and optical illusion strained to bursting point

quiveringly planted in the dark in the white a sail
and silently there pecks an unseen beak

on the mirror’s membrane of wind and salt

the burst is imminent

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