makes pirouettes on the shadows of the sleep,
horizons interweave the spells.
projected clockwise on the top
towards the edge of childhood.
The circle in which it sooner gets dark
is the nightingale`s night-hole.
I`m following the passing of time
through the same sphere.
The harmonies of life
are looking for escape from slowness.
The morning ear drums
unravel the sounds
of the round archеs bending.