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The poetry of Anna Maligon is always a little intimacy. This tonality is apparently due to the author’s internal need to maintain a solid texture of the main thing, despite everything - war, despondency, ruined time. The poetess writes equally profoundly about both the profane and the sacred. For her, it seems, there is no difference - mountain ash in hoarfrost, an emerald feather or a whole human life. The degree of trust and warmth is always super-high - to a whisper, to a hug, to a confessional tear. Therefore, do not be surprised when reading the illusion of a thin hand on your shoulder.
