The hope a mooncalf follows
is sacrifice for slaughter,
and yet the wings of swallows
still skip across the water. 

The Official Website of the Leading Formalist Poet 

YouTube RSS
formats

Despair

Alone in the dark, the blood of blackberries dripping down

(Read More)…

 
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
formats

Cracow at Dawn

1. Beneath the clouds in the corner of my faithless

(Read More)…

 
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
formats

Visiting my Dead Grandmother’s Cottage

Lithuania, 1966 Visiting her cottage I remember ripe ears of

(Read More)…

 
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
formats

The Idiot

Whenever I sit with the village idiot, it’s always with

(Read More)…

 
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
© by Leo Yankevich
credit