My tale

If I tell you a tale -
it would be a pale one
a giant see-through swan
with glass feathers,
hit by an arrow of sun
it cries like thousand violins

it will be about the
trembling leaves,
and branches that waltz
with the wind in minor tunes
and sea - a nun,
a fragile veil
condemned to silence
and everlasting reflection
of the sky

then

empty highways,
always asleep,
carried away by
lullabies of invisible harp.

One day, my tale
will freeze to death
on an ice bed,
forgetting to move south.