І я йому вірила. 

During his visit to the Moon he was

treated as a distinguished visitor

from the friendly neighbor country Earth.

He was shown around and among other

attractions he saw a host of angels of

different geometrical forms:

Boldcolored triangles rectangles subtly hued

the circle angels a fluorescent rainbow.

They wore sheer orlon wings

or rather moonwings.

But that was nothing compared with that

he next experienced on the Moon.

The colors left their angelbodies and

politely incited him to leave his body which

he did to show his courtesy although

it was not easy and 

rather uncomfortable.

(To his surprise he was a brownish grey.)

He blended with them in a brilliance so intense it reached

from the end of the Moon

to the other

            (a sort of painful bliss)

till he felt the ecstasy too sharp to bear

and they exploded together beautifully

an opening vast blossom of sound

the sweetest moonsweet music all around.

How long it lasted he did not remember

but he found himself back in his own body

taking leave of the Moon.

It was a special performance he was told

in his honor the distinguished visitor

from the friendly neighbor country Earth.

When he came home from his trip to the Moonland

with cordial greetings for his friends

would you believe it – they did not believe him!

They were very very nasty and locked him

in a gloomy room in a gloomy house

with many people without color or music. 

I went to see him. He was busy painting

his adventures to the Moon.

I saw a triangle angel shaking wings with a circle angel saw the brilliant sphere

and thought  I heard moon music all around.

He told me the details with 

elaborate precision and 

gave me kind regards from

the hospitable moonfolks.

I believed him.

When the huge garden was locked

man brought his companion and loneliness to the soil.

Growing towards death, he had to create life

every moment as his only possession.

The brother’s envy was the terrible return

to the experiment of being singular,

accepting no rival,

devouring power, the red luring apple.

As time was shaped in expanding space,

objects blossomed from his fingers, nothing was odd. 

The wonderful  reality of every god

was music and rainbow in his pulse.

He transformed his moments to domes, walls, ghettoes.

Doors closed. Wars opened the old controversy:

The combined will of jealous brothers between

the crimson angels love and power.

The naked choice.

Moments and gods his burning realities.

Even the flood could not drown his stubborn vision

of the living spark, the crystal word

the still-remembered undivided life.

Last spark was spent.

Ocean and continent

waved adieu.

No dove was sent,

no sentiment,

no hue.

But the angels? And he

who is higher than they and we?

Nothing stirred.

Pole and perigee

forgotten. No tree,

no bird.

Aeons dreamt. Apollo slept.

Ventures of syllables, inept,

unheard.

Chaos was lonely, longed for order, wept.

Light, shade, a shape, a sound - : Accept

the WORD!

Three larks of ore

fly over the village

in half-circles of sound.

The people 

clothed in hope and prayer offer

their hallelujahs for a week.

Bach on the organ blesses their ears

with the triumph of faith. 

The air is a wave of rest

washing their faces

relaxed. 

The children

white and blue and pink

play solemn games in order not to

crease their prettiness

their laughter a bunch of little bells.

Dogs doze at sleepy doors 

dreaming of tender bones and sweet-sweet cake.

After the dinner-feast

the village is fast asleep.

Cool angels glide through corridors and bedrooms

Kissing the lips with the silence.  

The last part of the afternoon

is a family walk along the willows

to benches where neighbors meet.

The ritual of gossip goes around

mingles with the chatter of children

and lark-voices

of evening bells.