Seven Hours One Minute
by Olga Zondberg · 01/21/10
the insect sei shōnagon
jumps from the knees and back
under the screen while we watch
the last wong kar-wai
on Sunday evening at the beginning of February
sometimes she manages to whisper
what warms the heart over there
and what brings ennui
the little child in snow overalls at chistoprudny boulevard
has a serious look
hits her head
several times against a bench
when the ice recedes
the ship will again return to its old world
with growing archaisms under the mark of promised antiquity
tricked by the luster ice-skates the artifice of children’s eyes
one moment two moment
after the ignorance before the inattention
white birds on the wires and trees
sweet red apples elastically hit the snow
