Over night

As I’m grasping
the intentions of the storm,
Breeding discord
between thunderclouds,
My hands try to touch
the aerial body of the night,
Chasing for voices in the air,
That got locked out until sunrise
to cool down,
Proficient to decipher
the ordeal of summerdays.
Catching the breeze,
Like Nabokov caught butterflies,
As subconscious ambiguities
ascend like
Bubbles in water,
Piercing the surface of
my consciousness,
To tell vivid tales about the opulence
My perception gathers.

Kerim Mallée

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