June 24, 2012

Roethke & Fokanov

The spirit moves,
Yet stays:
Stirs as the blossom stirs,
Still wet from its bud-sheath,
Slowly unfolding,
Turning in the light with its tendrils;
Plays as a minnow plays,
Tethered to a limp weed, swinging,
Tail around, nosing in and out of the current,
Its shadows loose, a watery finger;
Moves, like a snail,
Still inward,
Taking and embracing its surroundings,
Never wishing itself away,
Unafraid of what it is, a music in a hood,
A small thing,
          by  Theodore Roethke
Vladimir Fokanov

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