The mad-eyed bloom of the
Fiery Russian poet
Incinerated by eternity’s fist
And fed to toy-sized sharks in the
Oversized aquarium
Of the studio apartment
Where the old-style yellow
Phone sits voiceless,
Without fingerprints for
Evidence—
Yet, by shivering moonlight and
Vodka on the lonely lips
On some 21st century kid
In the pale-horse light
And singular footsteps of
The hallway,
A reborn poet can test the
Depths, a bee-sized phoenix
Coming reformed for a few
Minutes,
Inches of hand-signals from the
Clock,
To be published in the middle of the
Sea
In the calm eye of an
Apoplectic hurricane
Which fortunately dies before
The drunken scientists can think up a name.
Robert Rorabeck
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/arseny-tarkovsky/
