The past is passing,

it,

through the dusty glass,

now looks at us,

in the distance,

where we were together,

and alone...

Soul to soul,

and body to body,

we chatted,

often not on business...

Now we are silent,

alone,

in the silence,

and the soul sins less often...

And the ringing of thoughts,

in an empty closet,

And the postman,

an overseas envelope...

The past is passing,

it,

through the dusty glass,

now looks at us,

in the distance,

where we were together,

and alone...-

Grigory Burtaev. Los Angeles. February 27.2016.1219

© Copyright: Grigory Burtaev, 2016

Certificate of publication No. 116022712433