In early morning light, two gentlemen, two fools, stand at some paces from each other. The snow is slowly melting all around them and the birches are in bloom, the men’s silent anger the fierce sun, the pale blue sky their retribution. A flicker in a bright mind; a shot, and from the wound like blood so many butterflies.

spring songs
of birds;
the screaming air

Bio: Nikita Shorikov