Mykyta Ryzhykh

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What flows from the second hand of the clock

I say party but involuntarily I pronounce death

In each fold of the official flag lives a hungry belly

In each note of the official anthem lives a combat concussion

In each color of the official coat of arms are absorbed blood

I say sunrise but while I look at the sky it begins to get dark

In every official speech I hear the noise of a chainsaw in a dying garden

In each raised hand I seem to hear a cut vein on a tree branch

In each formulation the crunch of leaves or bones underfoot in autumn seeps through

I say stone but this stone like a fist means silence in the wind

The palm involuntarily opens like a flower dew falls from above and a bird flies in to drink from my hands

An iron crippled shot down bird drinks blood from my hands

I say bird but I mean the dead daughter of other people's parents

In each feather there is a mysterious minty pain

In each sip the emptiness comes to life which we swam before than we were born

In each breath the fish wheezes which we were in our mother's belly

I say fish and I mean the drowned silence in the form of which we came into this world as a stone

This world stole us at birth and brought us to its home

Now all the drowned have overcome their fear of swimming

And the blood like time flows from the second hand of a clock

Mykyta Ryzhykh is from Ukraine, now living in Tromsø, Norway. Nominated for Pushcart Prize and Touchstone prize. Published many times in literary magazines іn Ukrainian and English: Tipton Poetry Journal, Stone Poetry Journal, andNeologism Poetry Journal. His book Tombboy will be published in 2026 by Lost telegram press.