translated from the Russian by Anna Ivaskevica and Alex Wong

with the good counsels of Alex Chernova

Evenings slither down, as
                       fogs of a pale blue –
Slide from the peaks
            down over the lakes.

Tomorrow, tomorrow and yesterday,
            slip out of mind.

Days are like dreams, they are like
Dreams; and thoughts
Are more submissive to the unaccountable.    

I’m alone: but only one who is alone
Is coupled
            with the universe of God.
Inside myself I attend to the secret life
            spilled over in everything. Isn’t my heart
Bound with the roots
Of all the flowers
...