Valery Kourinsky

03.06.1999

SUNBORN THOUGHTS

 

It was
during flash-century of this bland morning,
of this small fragment of mine that was a time,
it was as it never could be,
it was unrepeatedly as it must be always.
It was at present, it was though it still IS.

Spring whispers something in cats language
and hazy air contains in itself a strange transparency.
Eyes are wet in a specific way
as if they are lubricated by sun and
the ray of the first day after Creation.
Slushy seconds glimmers with micro-hopes,
which are ready to transmute its contents in particles
of our best outer existence,
in drops of a rain bringing happiness,
bringing gold as a piece of beauty not as a thing that relates to
stock exchange.

March good presentiments are today hard currency in mental space of the
divine.
"Exchange my joy for your wonderful heartsinking!"
Treasures have today another sense,
they shine and move like juice in prims,
and give us a kind of understanding
that helps to experience love of all generations at once...

Dying ice transforms into brook of merriment,
debouching into a sea of insights and revelations.
Water is eternal in frame of our brittle world.
Each mortal consists mostly of water,
therefore, he is partly deathless living being.
But -- where do flow rivers of that eternity,
incomplete as they are?
Where are roofs pendent with its icicles?
Where does its fog crawl in this area of subcelestial wonders?
May be, spring prompts to us that our continuation could be everywhere,
in whatever part of this given-ness?
I hear how crinkle the ground of present
irradiating burgeons, emanating sprout,
and I become a physicist of metaphysics.
I see the invisible and my best dream is
to show it to those whom I love.
So is vernal situation
in our ever recovering existence.
Today and here.
Today, penetrated with vein of yesterday.
Here, where there are so much space from other place.
You are far off.
You ARE yesterday.
Spring.
Sunborn thoughts.