Transparent eyes of the horses in
The hoary sky can scare all the music
Away from the face of the planet.
Do you savor the sins of the saints in the air?
Angels start drinking exactly at 5 a.m., no matter
The time zone, no
Matter how many raindrops they can pile up
On the tip of a needle asking
Whether it is the sky or the earth that is
Having more puddles right now. Yeah,
They start it as if they have ever stopped
Leaving all the empty bottles floating above your hollow head.
To sleep under commas of silent winds on a birdless land is a blessing.
To step on dirty feathers, to look into burning barns
In search of the tiny source of scaly music,
Music that can’t deny the existence of monster-eaten alphabets,
Music that can’t describe all the exits, escapes and exceptions.
There are always too many Edens to visit them all at once.
Ivan Peledov lives in Colorado. He loves to travel and to forget the places he has visited. He has been published in Eunoia Review, Lost and Found Times, Red Fez, Illuminations and other magazines. Ivan recommends supporting Ghost Rhythms.