by Pavel Chichikov
A white phone has a cord, and so has she
To measure
Pulse and temperature
And blood pressure
Her slippers and her dressing gown are pink
She loves the color
And would have blossoms all around her
Pinks to give her pleasure
The cord is white, and white the walls and sheets
And she is six
And snow is white and nurses dress in white
But pinks and cherry blossoms not
I too have a cord attached to me
And so does she
But neither of us sees
This cord that joins all things invisibly
And from this cord is every color known
Combined
Into a meadow of the soul and mind
And pinks that love has grown
And there real footsteps press them down
And they spring up again
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
