following W.S.
                                    I

Crystal-clear water in a glistening vase.

Yellow and Red roses.

White light in the room, like snow.
Fresh snow (it’s the end of winter)
softly falling on the invented place.
The afternoons are returning without sounds,

without secrets, without impatient faces

Round vase.

Porcelain painted with roses.

Yellow and red.

The water – unruffled emptiness.


                                   II

And still the water,

the snow,

once were enough to compose

a new whiteness

– more necessary than the meaning of flowers

blooming inside the cool memory of happiness.

(Your ecstatic gaze

confirms that imagination

can lay bare the memory again and again).



                                  III


The mind seeks to escape.

This thought

(the possibility of the specific metaphor)

has been exhausted.

The roses, the vase, did not exist.

They do not exist.

The words however

keep falling –

snowflakes of a real life

in the margins of the poem.