Skip to main content
I listen to your voice message
And think again how beautiful you are,
Its candle tempo
Melts better than the snow,
Rachmaninov’s concertos,
Black caviar…
The feeling of your voice takes seed
And widens
Until my pillow
Begins to blur
In circles of violet
Flowers – soft and calm.
Your words are carefully spaced,
Your voice illuminates my space
And my heavy wine glass –
A purple swan in moonshine!
You’ve never told me what you feel,
Just what you do: clean, meet, go…
I listen to your voice message,
And think I used to dream of Venice,
San Marco, where Brodsky
Had his suppers,
Nursing a wineglass of Tocai:
“Dame un cicchetto!”
There are things I longed so strong for
But never miss again.
I wonder if I miss your voice
One day I lose my sense of smell?