A still sky after hours of storm

***

A still sky after hours of storm:

You see the trees standing silent

As there is no wind anymore.

Slowly, as if invisible Van Gogh,

Rublev,

or Shostakovich,

Crusading his palm all over the profile of a Virgin –

Without eyes, without nose,

A saint-looking ashen oval,

A coloured-halo is being written over

Her pearl hair,

The artist’s palm is sailing farther

And soon the clay sky is punctured

By seven arcs –

A rainbow at a snail’s pace is boating

Towards a still life –

A still us – sitting on the windowsill –

After hours of storm,

Surprised as we had not known

That rainbows crawl.

The car, the trees, the neighbours garden – all of it,

Gets bathed in luster,

The show lasts seconds or even less –

Though, the seven breaths feel like seven days,

The stars flame up like daisy flowers

After weeks of the Tarkovskian storm.