The house of the wandering pigeon. Summer

Angelic shining clay
on a potter's wheel of blue.
Brighter than the feathers of a motley peacock
woven meadow on grass tablecloth.
Like a big porous sponge
the forest is saturated with the sweetness of syrup
from the rain bugle goblet
to intricate syncopations,
trills, fractions, arias, glissando
forever brilliant orchestra.
House in the woods. Radiant veranda
a turret with a music stand for the maestro.
Wandering pigeon resting
on the sloping roof of the mezzanine.
Boron sighs with ocean noise,
steamed in a piano tailcoat.
Having fully admired the lake,
angelic shining clay
under the sculptor's invisible chisel
takes on the characteristics of a peacock,
repeats the shape of the mezzanine,
forest, well, turret with a porch.
A wandering pigeon drinks water
from a jug of an affectionate mistress
and watches as they eat the honeywort
wasps and bees dancing flocks.
And on the tower of the genius maestro
the violin sings the lungwort of the day,
like a peacock, painted motley,
keeping the secret of inspiration.

Oleg Mayorov